


Weapons and Remains

by Nosow



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Death, Eventual Relationships, Explicit Language, F/M, Gore, Negan is his own warning, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 116,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nosow/pseuds/Nosow
Summary: Long ago, when the apocalypse began, Mazia learned to walk on swift, silent feet. She became a honed weapon, prepared to protect herself and her sister at all costs. For months, they survive on their own, until with a sudden, unexpected twist of fate, everything changes. She only wanted to help the group she encountered in the woods that day - but circumstances lead to her meeting Negan, and when she is offered a place at the Sanctuary, she is in no position to resist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So. This is my first TWD fanfiction. I'm in the process of writing two GoT ones at the moment, and man, am I nervous for this! I ADORE TWD, and I'm going to go ahead and warn you all: this is TV!Negan. If that bothers you, I apologize, but that's how I'm writing him for this fic. 
> 
> With 3 fics, work, and college, I mayyy be a bit slow at times...but trust me, I'll update as frequently as possible. 
> 
> Bear with me while I slip into this new universe and explore it. The first chapter will be slow; the next will be better. :) 
> 
> WARNING: if you have not seen S7 E01, please know that this contains spoilers regarding the Lucille victim and events that occur.

It's strange, when I think about it, to reflect on how much has changed in a few precious heartbeats. 

Here I am, kneeling on the hard, frozen ground, in the midst of a group of terrified strangers. I'd known when I'd seen them frantically tramping through the forest, a stretcher carried between two of the men, that I shouldn't concern myself with them. It was a dog eat dog world now, no rules, no room for sympathy. They hadn't seen me yet; so few did these days, when I'd learned to maneuver my weight just so, to stick to the shadows and the crevices. And though I'd contemplated slipping away, back to my patchwork tent where my sister waited, something had kept me rooted there. Maybe it was the look of pain and terror etched upon the sweaty features of the woman on the stretcher. Maybe it was the frantic desperation that oozed from the group. Maybe it was my damned bleeding heart, tugging at the strings. For whatever reason, I'd bled from the shadows and called, "Wait."

They'd stopped and turned towards me, frightened, stunned, the lot of them. I'd watched with baited breath as multiple pairs of eyes sized me up. Despite the arsenal of knives strapped to my lithe frame, I'd held up my palms in surrender. Somewhere in the underbrush I knew Carter waited, silent, patient, ready to spring if they dared lift a finger to hurt me. I hoped he stayed hidden. 

"I don't know where you're headed, or what's going on. But I - I can help you. I have a camp, just a little ways from here. Only a tent, really. But I have water and pain pills, to hold her over." 

I'd wanted to ask what was wrong with her. I'd wanted to ask where they were from. But I hadn't; I'd only waited as the two carrying the stretcher, a brawny redhead and a stern-faced, blue-eyed man, had exchanged glances. 

"I'm afraid we don't have time for that, as much as we appreciate your offer," the blue-eyed man had said. It had been impossible to miss the thick southern drawl despite the rushed note to his words. "We just - we have to get her to a doctor. The roads aren't an option. We don't even know if we're still on the right track. Please - we're trying to get to Hilltop."

I knew it. Not familiarly - only because I’d spent many nights creeping around the fortress, gathering information on swift, silent feet. Ironically I'd been scoping it out for weeks now, trying to decide if it was a safe place. For me. For Carter. For my sister. 

So I’d swallowed hard and nodded. "I know where it is. You're on the right track, but it's getting dark. I can show you."

And I'd tried. Really, I had. But then the whistling had started, the headlights had flared, the press of an alarming amount of bodies had become sickeningly apparent. Trapped.

So here I kneel, head down, listening to the sounds of frantic breathing around me as the door of the RV bangs open. I don’t know these people; I’d only wished to help them, and somehow had just succeeded at getting myself into a clusterfuck of a situation. My feelings of regret, dread, and rising panic only triple when _he_ appears.

Negan, he calls himself. He’s all tall, broad, predatory grace, with a devastatingly handsome visage and honeyed hazel eyes that seem to radiate amusement. The barbed wire-wrapped bat he carries dangles at his side nonchalantly, a glistening threat that screams promises of retribution. I am captivated by him, oddly awed, as he strides along the line of kneeling subjects, oozing strength and power and _masculinity_. 

It becomes devastatingly clear that whoever this group is, they have grievously offended him. He speaks of killing his people, of a price to pay, a new order. It becomes clear, as he lovingly introduces his bat as _Lucille_ , that the price will be paid in blood. My thoughts flash to Kiyah, my lovely little sister, huddled in our tent waiting for Carter and I to return with dinner. Negan’s men had stripped me of my knives, my little satchel with the plump body of a hare inside, my dignity. What will Kiyah think, if I don’t return? I remember Carter, inevitably still waiting just out of sight somewhere, anxiously wondering why I do not call for him. I hope he returns to Kiyah if I die. 

Negan begins to prowl along the line, his steps slow and deliberate as his gaze flits from person to person, assessing. I am filled with the sudden desire to cry out, to inform him that I do not belong here, that I am not one of them, that I should not die for them. And why shouldn’t I tell him? When surely they are hoping that he decides on _me_? It would be so convenient for them if he does. Negan makes his point with my brains on his bat, they don’t lose any of their little group, and only the poor girl who stupidly wanted to help suffers.

But when Negan comes to a halt before me, so that I have to crane my head back to look at him, he pauses. And he sees it. The way I am distant from the others; how my fear is not spiking at the idea of losing someone in the group. He pauses, tilting his head to one side, his gaze scalding me when it roves over my form. I see how it lingers on the dip of my sweater, revealing the tiniest hint of cleavage. How it slips over my lips, my eyes, my tawny skin, my hair. 

"What about this one, Simon?" He calls. 

“That one wasn’t with them earlier,” a man with dark hair offers. “Don’t know where she came from. Must’ve ran into them somewhere in the woods during their little detour.”

“That fuckin’ right?” Negan asks, crouching before me. I flinch as his hand lifts, leather-clad fingers brushing the skin of my chin as he tilts my head back, forcing my eyes to meet his. “You part of Rick’s merry little band of pricks? Tell the truth, doll.”

 _Doll._ I shiver and shake my head. It’s been so long since someone has touched me, since I’ve let anyone get close enough to try. For a moment I falter, but when the words come, they’re true. Just like he demanded. “No. I…I was on the way back to my camp, when I saw them in the woods. They looked bad. I just…wanted to help.”

“Bad luck, sweetheart,” he purrs with a cluck of his tongue. “But we’ll talk about it later. Dwight, pull her off to the side. We want our dear friend Rick to suffer, and he can’t fucking do that if some nobody gets acquainted with Lucille, now can he?”

It feels wrong, the way relief floods through me as a man with grievous wounds to one side of his face steps forward and yanks me aside. I’m still made to kneel on aching, protesting knees…but when Negan begins his gruesome game of eenie, meenie, miney, never once does Lucille hover inches from my nose.

In the end, it’s the redheaded man who carried the stretcher earlier that meets his grizzly fate. As his companions and loved ones scream, as he spits one final scathing line before his head becomes pulp, I slip into the hard, familiar place within me that keeps my revulsion and fear at bay. And when one poor bastard makes the mistake of rebelling, forced to witness another of his friends slaughtered in the process, I am numb.

Still, despite his stammering, the blue-eyed man – Rick – manages a threat. And he is rewarded (or perhaps damned) for it when Negan drags him into the RV, his limbs flailing like a limp doll.

I am made to kneel there in the clearing with the group of strangers for some time. I am made to watch as they sob and mourn, as the flies begin to flock to the strewn, bloody remains of the two victims. As the sky slowly, tortuously begins to lighten. 

When at last the RV rumbles back into the clearing, I’m vaguely surprised to see Rick thrown forward in one piece – though visibly shaken. It is nothing compared to how he breaks when Negan forces him to kneel over a boy whom I assume is his son, hatchet raised, prepared to do what I never could if demanded of me. I have no child, no ties to anyone but Kiyah; imagining being forced to hurt her, to maim her, to look into her eyes as she screams in pain…I shudder visibly at the thought, and the man who hovers behind me – Dwight – laughs. 

In the end, the boy keeps his arm. The group I met only hours ago is shattered, broken. And Negan is practically glowing when he turns those fiery eyes upon me again, his boots crunching against the dew-coated grass as he strides towards where I kneel. 

“Now, where were we, darling?” He asks, lifting a hand to stroke the salt-and-pepper stubble than lines his chiseled jaw. “Right. You were telling me how you have a camp?”

“It’s not much,” I hasten to tell him. Perhaps I should be ashamed at how easily I fall into rank beneath him...but this is not a world where I even know the meaning of the word. I know only _survival_ \- and rebelling against this man will just ensure death. “A tent. A few canned goods, sleeping bags, a first aid kit. But my sister is there.”

“Sounds like a miserable fucking set-up, if you ask me,” he replies with a whistle. My gaze is inevitably drawn to Lucille as it - _she_ \- dangles before me, coated in skin and brain and blood. “Hardly worth even bothering with. But I’ll tell you what. Since I’m such a generous fucking guy, I’ll make you an offer that I daresay you just _cannot_ resist. We have a compound – a mighty fine set-up, if I do say so myself. Walls. Supplies. People; lots of ‘em. Because you’ve been so very obedient, which I _like very much_ if you can’t tell, I’ll offer you a place there. Now make no mistake, you can feel perfectly fucking free to say no. Go back to your tent and freeze your fine little ass off every night. But if you’re smart, and if you think you can work hard to contribute…well, then I’d say that you and your sister would fit in just fine at the Sanctuary.” 

His gaze is heavy, expectant. It’s too much to take in at once, what he’s offering. I’ve just seen what brutality he is capable of, how he laughed as he swung the bat, how he delighted in bringing down the shuddering group still reeling in his wake. But the sound of food, of a warm bed, of _safety_ is so tantalizing. And after what I’ve seen today, never would I make the mistake of crossing Negan as gravely as Rick’s group had. 

“Well? I’m a generous man, but I’m not a very patient one, and I’m tired of looking at these bunch of pussies,” he says, jerking his thumb towards the shattered group behind me. “What will it be? Say the word and I’ll send some men to retrieve your sister, we’ll load you up in a truck, and life will become _considerably_ sweeter for you.

I don’t think of myself, in that moment. I think of Kiyah. So when I straighten, tossing my long sheet of shining ebony hair over my shoulder, amber-gold eyes lifting to meet Negan’s, my answer comes in the form of a nod. “If I could go with them, to find my sister – “

“You think they can’t find a fucking tent on their own?” 

“No,” I hasten to explain, shaking my head. “It’s just – “

But then I pause, reconsidering. Already I can see the patience bleeding from him as he stares down at me. So instead of insisting, I slip the delicate silver charm bracelet from my wrist and hold it out. “Take this. She’ll be skeptical of men showing up and claiming I asked for her to come along. But with this…”

I trail off as Negan gestures to Dwight and several others, trying not to cringe when Dwight’s fingers brush mine as he takes the bracelet. I feel strangely empty without it there on my wrist, where it has dangled since my mother gifted it to me on my twelfth birthday. But that is precisely why Kiyah will recognize the significance of Dwight having it. _Either that, or she’ll think they took it from my corpse._ I brush this thought aside as I inform the men of how to find her, watching as they break away towards one of the many waiting trucks. 

And then at Negan’s gesture I stand, pausing only when he motions for me to follow him to a sleek black jeep. He scowls, but his expression clears when two short, shrill whistles slide past my lips, familiar and swift. There are murmurs of alarm amongst the men as a four-legged form slips from the shadows of the tree line, loping steadily towards me. The large, sable form of Carter slides through the parting group, his chocolate-hued eyes flashing with scarcely concealed suspicion as he glances at the massive group of people. But his training, as always, wins out; he does not falter nor stray from his path, stopping only once he is at my side. I can still remember the day my father gifted him to me, three years ago; I’d just moved into my own apartment. _”For protection,”_ he’d said, depositing the adorable ball of fluff into my arms. _”Guy at work breeds German Shepherd’s. Your mother and I will pay for a Personal Protection course with him, as well.”_

“Well I’ll be goddamned,” Negan says, his laughter deep and booming, almost manic as he looks from Carter to me. “As long as he shits outside and minds mommy’s commands, I can’t say I object.”

I breathe a sigh of relief at this. Carter has been with me through it all, my silent companion; keeping watch beside me during long, cold nights. Ripping the throats from walkers who ventured too close. Curling beside me when my exhaustion and anger and fear overwhelmed me. If he hadn’t been welcome at this Sanctuary, I would have changed my mind – just like that. 

“Now, if you don’t fucking mind,” Negan says with a mocking, exaggerated sweep of his arm towards the jeep. 

This time, I do not hesitate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! As a heads up, I'm gonna go ahead with my usual tradition for fic-writing: posting lyrics at the beginning of chapters. Usually these lyrics are what I'm listening to while writing, and hint at feelings/events/etc in the upcoming chapter. :)

  
_Like I'm falling out of bed_   
_From a long and weary dream_   
_Finally I'm free_   
_Of all the weight I've been carrying_   


Riding shotgun while an extremely handsome psychopath drives isn’t really where I imagined I’d be, if you’d asked me hours ago.

The ride is quiet for a while after we leave the clearing, with only the sound of Carter panting in the backseat to break the silence. It’s only when I’m thoroughly lost in my thoughts that Negan speaks, yanking me sharply out of my reverie. 

“So, here’s how this is gonna fucking work. Listen up, sweetheart, because I’m not particularly fond of repeating myself.” He pauses, his eyes briefly flitting from the road to mine and back again. “You’ll be assigned a room when you arrive; maybe with your sister if it can be arranged, but if not, too fucking bad. We have a system at the Sanctuary. You’ll be assigned a job, you’ll work your damn ass off, and you’ll earn points for it. Points are used for commissary, where you can buy whatever your fuckin’ heart desires. Clothes, food, girly shit. Speaking of food, breakfast is served every morning, and dinner every night. Now I’m a hardass, but I’m not an unfair guy. You won’t have to pay for your two meals a day, unless you want extra. Then you’ll pay for that. We don’t have any fucking dog food, so you’ll probably be paying for extra if you wanna feed the mutt, too. But again, because I’m a goddamn gentleman, I’ll tell the groups who go on supply runs to keep an eye out for fuckin’ dog chow to stick in commissary, though you’ll be the only one using it. Any of that not make sense to you?”

It seems like a fair collection of rules, really. “Crystal clear. How are jobs assigned?”

“Depends on what you’re good at. Don’t need some incompetent fuck trying to do a job they have no goddamn idea how to do.” There’s a pause, and then a purr. “So, what’ll it be?”

“I…” I falter, frowning. What would be useful? I know how to do simple, mundane, everyday things, of course – washing clothes, cooking a passable meal. But being made to do those things day after day, for hours on end, sounds excruciating. There are better things I could be doing with my time. "I'm damn good with a knife," I blurt before I can stop myself, and he laughs. It's different from the manic noise that I heard earlier in the clearing. 

"Simon did say you had a fuckton of knives on you earlier. Suppose that's not a bad trait. But I'm understandably reluctant to put fresh meat in jobs where they'll handle security. You gotta prove yourself first, darling. Maybe if you impress me - and fucking behave - you'll be moved to patrol in the future. Help with supply runs, guard the gates, all that fan-fucking-tastic stuff. Until then; what else?" 

_Breathe in. Focus. First position. Port de bras._

"I'm good at fixing things." I see his brows lift skywards from the corner of my eye. "Mostly electrical. Tinkering, my father used to call it. I liked learning how things work. What made them tick. I don't know how much good that would be at the Sanctuary, but..."

"Plenty of electrical shit you could fuck with. The kitchen crew will probably piss their pants with glee when they hear you can fix some of those worthless appliances. Closest job to it I can stick you in would be construction." 

Construction. It will have to do, until I can prove myself. Patrolling sounds like my forte; slipping through the shadows, keeping an eye out for suspicious behavior. It's the only good I've gotten out of my pre-apocalyptic life so far - treading silently, becoming a ghost. Just like Kiyah calls me. 

Kiyah. Have they found her by now? Did she go willingly? Is she scared? My heart rate spikes in anticipation and I sigh as I let my head thunk against the glass of the window. 

"I'd go on my usual spiel about how you better mind your fucking manners, but I guess you got a first hand demonstration back there." Negan chuckles, the sound low and gravelly. 

_"Good, Mazia! Demonstrate a failli for the others, if you will."_

I shy away from the memories, face smooth and impassive. "Wouldn't dream of crossing you after that." Maybe another person picked up after witnessing the grizzly murders would be defiant; perhaps they would be reluctant to bow down, to become submissive. But everything I do, I do for Kiyah. If that means licking Negan's boots, then lick I will. 

He shifts, the sound of leather against leather as his jacket brushes the seat behind him jarring. "Just what I like to hear."

\---

The Sanctuary is unlike anything I've ever seen. 

From the moment the towering gate appears outside of the window, I'm awestruck. I'd heard whispers of communities before, people who banded together and fortified somewhere to call home, but until now I'd never seen it. 

At the sight of Negan behind the wheel, and the large band of trucks rumbling in the jeep's wake, two guards hasten to open the gates. I lean forward in my seat as the jeep slips forward, craning my head as we roll towards a large compound. It's early, but already there are signs of life: a group of women hanging damp clothes on a line. Three children giggling and shrieking as they kick a ball across the yard. I see a glimpse of a sprawling garden off to the side, with people prowling between the stalks, tilling the earth and harvesting the last of the spoils before winter. 

"Pretty damn impressive, if I do say so myself," Negan says, and I glance towards him as he pulls the car into a sprawling garage-like structure.

"It looks..." I pause as armed men approach, bowing their heads respectfully to Negan when they spot him behind the wheel. "Safe."

"You can bet your sweet ass it is," Negan says with a smirk as he swings the drivers door open. The second his boots touch the concrete, the men go from bowing to kneeling. I don't know why I'm surprised; with a man like Negan, dominance is everything. 

I'm uncertain as I slip out of the car, Carter following, if I should do the same. But before I can contemplate it further, the men are standing again, and the Saviors from the outing are pouring out of trucks. 

"Simon," Negan barks, and almost instantly, the man in question comes striding up. "Get her settled in. Find a room she and her sister can share, if you can. Let Allan know she'll be working construction starting tomorrow. When her sister shows up, get her sorted out for a job, too." 

He turns as if to leave but then pauses, glancing over his shoulders. His gaze, when it meets mine, sends a strange jolt down my spine. 

"I'm not fuckin' kidding when I say that dog better behave," Negan warns. "We're not a fucking zoo, and you're damned lucky I'm even considering letting you keep him here. If he bites anyone, or causes problems...well, Lucille isn't opposed to getting acquainted with animals."

And just like that, all effects of his charisma is gone. I tilt my chin up just a fraction - not enough to be insolent, but enough to make my point when I speak. "Carter won't hurt anyone - unless they hurt me. And I assume that a place like this wouldn't run so smoothly if I had to worry about violence. So I assure you, he won't be a problem." 

Negan holds my gaze for a very long time - enough for me to realize that perhaps I spoke too boldly. But then he simply nods and strides away, calling to his surrounding men, "If anyone disturbs me, it better be a goddamn emergency. I have wives to fuck and sleep to catch up on."

 _Wives?_ I glance towards Simon, brows raising, and he shrugs. 

"I suspect you'll find out soon enough," he says, giving me a meaningful once-over. I bristle, skin crawling, wondering what exactly he means by that. But before I can ask he begins to move towards the largest building in the compound, gesturing for me to follow. I do so on silent feet, Carter loping beside me. 

Simon leads me into the sprawling building, sighing. "Alright, here we go. First thing is commissary - it's through this door here on your left. Full of shit, though you won't be able to get any of it without points. Negan explained those to you?"

I nod. 

"Good. You won't have points until you start working, but we're not cruel. You'll start out with a small bar of soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, one extra set of clothes, and a standard blanket, sheets, and pillow. Scratchy as hell but you can change 'em out later. You can buy extra shit from commissary, too - more clothes, food, an alarm clock - I'd definitely recommend that, don't wanna be late to your jobs - books..." He trails off, glancing at me. "...and feminine products, of course."

"I'd hoped we wouldn't be made to bleed like barbarians," I quip, and he pauses before a smirk flits across his features. 

"That'd just make a mess, and we don't want that," he remarks. We turn a corner and he gestures into a set of double doors which are propped open. I peek inside to see a massive room full of mismatched tables and chairs, currently packed with people. The hum of conversation seems relaxed and natural, and I watch as men and women in aprons slip from a room off the side carrying trays of plates, which they sit before the waiting people. 

"Cafeteria, obviously. Breakfast is from seven to nine, dinner is from five to eight. Gives people with long shifts time to eat. You won't really ever have to worry about being on time; we have plenty of food from supply runs." He chuckles at this, and I remember Negan's words as I sat huddled on the ground, surrounded by those terrified strangers. " _Give me half your shit."_ How many communities, I wonder, does he collect from? 

He leads me to a set of stairs, and to the second floor. It's a long hallway of doors, most of them closed, but from the few that are open, I catch glimpses of people reclining on cots, talking amongst themselves, _living._ My chest tightens at the sight. How long has it been since I've had a room to call my own? A bed to sleep on? 

"I think we have a room with two vacant beds, actually. You're in luck, princess," Simon remarks, pulling me out of my thoughts long enough for me to shoot him a scowl. "Had two girls move in with their men last week. Standardly we house genders together - second floor is the women's, third floor is the men's. But we don't give a rats ass if you wanna cozy up to someone and move in with them, as long as their roommate agrees to shuffle around. Shared bathroom is at the end of this hall; think of it like a gym bathroom. Fourth floor is private apartments for higher ranking people. Fifth floor is for Negan and his wives."

Again, with the plural. The idea of Negan with some sort of harem oddly doesn't surprise me at all; much like the kneeling, he's elevated himself to the status of a king. 

"This ones your room. I'll have Dwight bring your sister up when they arrive, with your sheets and things," Simon says, stopping before one of the doors. "Construction starts at nine sharp. I'll let Allan know you've been assigned there. Meet me outside of the cafeteria at eight thirty and I'll show you the way. Anything else?"

I shake my head and he nods, gesturing to the room with a sweep of his arm before turning and striding away down the hall, boots thumping noisily. Taking a deep breath, I glance down at Carter, who's watching me with big, kind eyes. 

"Well, boy. This is it," I murmur, reaching to push the door open. It's a simple room, but cozy, with two twin beds on each side of the room, and two end tables between them. There's a table with a single chair wedged into one corner, and what looks to be a bookshelf in the other - likely used to store clothes and personal items, I assume. 

Breathing out a sigh, I slip down on one of the beds, brushing my fingers across the mattress as Carter settles at my feet. It's strange, to sit idly and not have to worry about listening for biters, or fretting over where the next meal for Kiyah will come from. We won't have to sleep in shifts tonight, or huddle together for warmth. We'll be able to _live_ for the first time since the world went to shit. 

The sound of footsteps in the hall makes my eyes snap open. Though I know there's no cause for alarm, I still mourn the loss of my knives. Knives I'd scavenged from corpses over the years, knives that I sharpened reverently by the fire each night. Knives that had kept me alive when little else would. I'll have to ask Simon about them. 

Suddenly Dwight is looming in the doorway, and behind him is the familiar form of my younger sister. She looks petrified, and when she sees me she lets out a sob that racks her entire body, launching herself forward and into my arms. 

"Oh, Mazia, you're really here," she's saying between sobs as I clutch her closer. "Men just appeared outside of the tent, and you and Carter had been gone for so long. He said they had you, that you went with them willingly, and your bracelet...I wanted to believe him but I didn't know!" 

"Shhh," I murmur, pushing her hair out of her face. She's only eighteen now, with the weight of this shitty world on her shoulders, and she'd thought she'd lost the only person she had left. "It's okay. It's alright now. This is a good place. A safe place. We're _safe_ here."

From the doorway, Dwight clears his throat, and I glance up as he places our patchwork bags by the door before offering me the bundles of supplies that Simon promised. Gently I extract myself from Kiyah to take it. "Simon said he'd give her a job assignment tomorrow. I tried to ask her what she's good at on the way, so I could make a suggestion...but she won't talk to me."

"This is all very new to us," I say quietly, my eyes flitting across the burned half of his face before meeting his gaze. "We've been running since this shitshow started. Fighting. Always looking over our shoulder. And we've had things happen that have made us wary."

 _Slick, decaying skin rubbing across mine. Kiyah in the next room, crying. Carter barking, frantic, angry - a yelp. A biter, teeth removed, arms gone, groaning in frustration as it wriggles atop me, unable to devour me like it wishes. Laughter from the man in the corner as I scream and wretch, the scent of death washing over me, gore splattering as biter skin begins to slough off. His eyes, blue and lit with sadistic delight. No. No no, I trusted you, no -_

I blink hard, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts. Dwight is staring at me with furrowed brows, so I smile and shrug. "It's just different, to be safe. But we appreciate this, Dwight."

He says nothing to that, but he suddenly reaches into his pocket, holding something out to me in a closed fist. I extend my palm, and into it he drops my bracelet, which I promptly slip onto my wrist with a smile. I feel whole again; complete. 

"Seemed important," Dwight says, noting my pleased smile. 

When he's gone and the door is firmly shut, I get work making up our beds, and sorting through the change of clothes. A pair of jeans, clean underwear, and a t-shirt for both of us. No bra, I note mournfully; not that they would've known the size. 

I fill Kiyah in on my trip through the woods, and my encounter with Rick - and then Negan. She listens raptly while she pets Carter, who has rolled onto his back like a giant puppy, relaxed now that we are all alone. When I've finished talking Kiyah sighs and collapses back against her mattress. In her, I see myself. Her hair is cropped short, tucked behind her ears, but the same shiny onyx. Her eyes are the same tawny as mine, her skin the same caramel hue, though her features are sharper, more pronounced than mine. I inherited the doe eyes, small nose, and full lips of our mother; she got the narrow eyes, sharp nose, and thin lips of our father. Beautiful, in her own way. It's amusing to think of the contrast; she, gentle and soft but with sharp features. I, deadly and hard inside, with gentle, unarming attributes. 

"It's almost too good to be true, isn't it?" She asks. "A set up like this. A community. It's nothing like before, but..."

I nod, understanding. "But it's a chance."'


	3. Chapter 3

  
_You're like a mirror,_  
_reflecting me_  
_Takes one to know one,_  
_so take it from me_  


I always wake with the sunrise.

It's been a constant thing since the world went to shit. Stirring at the first sign of daylight when it wasn't my turn to keep watch, watching as the sun rose over the horizon. For a while, it irritated me. But now, with no alarm yet and a job to do, I'm grateful for it. 

I slip quietly from beneath the scratchy blankets, stretching as Carter lifts his head to observe me. It was so strange to sleep on a bed again that my slumber was constantly punctuated by moments of startled wakefulness. Still, my muscles feel better than they have in months; I guess a mattress makes all the difference. 

As quietly as I can, I slide the door open, peeking out into the hall where a clock rests on one of the walls. 5:32 AM. No where near time for Kiyah and I to slip down to the cafeteria. 

It feels strange, having time to kill. I mull over it as I pull on the clean pair of underwear, my old bra, and the jeans and t-shirt provided by the Sanctuary. The zip-up sweater I found weeks ago is riddled with holes and threadbare, but still warm, so I tug it on gratefully. 

I pull on my boots, which have been a cherished item since I found them during the initial weeks. They are black, with silicon grips and polyurethane soles, and flexible cloth around the ankles. Quiet, supple, able to grip beautifully when I need to climb and silent when it counts. 

At the sound of my low whistle, Carter stands and pads out into the hall behind me. I close the door softly, slipping down the halls. Already there are sounds of life - people rising for early shifts, I assume. 

The morning air is crisp and frigid when I push my way outside, pausing to suck in a deep breath. Carter meanders over the the nearest patch of grass by the gardens to do his business, and I lean against the wall near the door of the compound, glancing around. There are men on patrol, stationed at the gates and prowling around the walls. One of them, a burly older man with a shaved head, nods to me and I smile back as he continues on his way. 

There is something so peaceful about standing here, watching Carter meander in the gardens, with the cool air nipping my skin. No checking over my shoulder; no listening for biters. It feels like a dream, too good to be true. 

"You're up awfully early."

I turn towards the voice, just in time to see Dwight as he turns the corner and prowls towards me, guns holstered at his side. 

"I can never sleep past daylight," I say, watching from the corner of my eye as Carter's head lifts suddenly, spotting Dwight. The burly dog lopes over immediately, seating himself at my side. Dwight doesn't miss it. 

"He's protective of you," Dwight observes warily. 

"He's family," I reply, fondly reaching down to scratch Carter's ears. "I'm just as protective of him." 

Dwight nods, but says nothing. I shift and try, "long night patrolling?" 

"Yeah. Almost time for me to be relieved, thank god." He rolls his shoulders and glances towards the gates. "How's Kiyah?"

"She's good. Sleeping like a baby. I think it finally hit her last night that this is all..." I trail off. 

"Real?" Dwight offers with a strange twitch of his lips. 

Before I can answer, the door to the compound swings open and I startle. 

From within, Negan steps out. 

He's dressed just as I first saw him: hair slicked back, form-fitting leather jacket, red scarf tucked tightly, jeans and boots. Lucille is slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, beautiful and dangerous. His gaze scans the yard as people kneel, before settling upon Dwight and I. 

Belatedly, I realize Dwight has knelt as well. After a moment, I dip to my knees, feeling his gaze hot on my skin. I don't know what compels to do it, but suddenly  
I glance towards Carter and murmur, " _Platz._ "

_"We need to determine keywords for Carter," the instructor says. "Something normal people won't usually say. A command for 'down', for example. 'Platz' is German for 'place'. Not something the usual citizen would call out."_

Immediately, Carter sinks. He lays beside me, head down, waiting. 

And Negan laughs. 

"Well that's just fucking flattering, sweetheart," he says as he strides towards me, eyes roaming across Carter before flicking to the man who kneels beside me. "Dwight. Get back to your fuckin' post."

Wordlessly Dwight rises and strides away, boots thumping. I continue to kneel, head down, unsure of how long this is expected of me. 

Suddenly, a single leather-clad hand appears before me, inches from my chin. I glance up swiftly before taking Negan's hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet in one smooth, strong movement. I can't resist glancing at his bicep as he does so, which flexes and relaxes when I find my balance. 

He holds my hand for a fraction too long; long enough for me to glance up and meet his intense gaze, which seems sear me. He grins as if he's fully aware of what those damned eyes and dimples do, releasing my hand almost reluctantly. 

"Walk with me," he instructs, whirling and striding away before I can say anything. I hasten to catch up with him, Carter darting along at my side. 

"So. Be honest with me, honey," he says after a moment. "How did you enjoy your first night at the Sanctuary?"

"It was strange. Only because it's the first time in months - years - that I haven't had to worry about safety. I'm still amazed that you've built something so...secure. Almost normal."

He chuckles. "Careful. You'll over-inflate my ego. Simon get you set up in a room with your sister?"

"Yes. She's still sleeping. Simon's supposed to give her an assignment later."

From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. "Good. And that fucking fucker Dwight isn't bothering you, is he? 'Cause I have no tolerance for unwanted advances here and he fucking knows it."

I'm briefly stunned; Dwight has been nothing but kind in his own strange, quiet way. But something about the growl in Negan's voice makes me think of the burned ruin of Dwight's face. 

He misinterprets my brief silence. "Unless the advances _aren't_ unwanted? I mean shit, he's one ugly son of a bitch, but if you're into that cottage cheese face look he has goin' on..."

"No," I splutter, shaking my head. "I mean it's not - I don't _know_ him. But he hasn't bothered us. He's been helpful, that's all."

Negan snorts as he leads us around the side of the compound, towards the garage I'd seen the previous day. "Well fuck me; I didn't think it was possible for him to be anything but a pain in my ass."

A brief silence falls, and I wonder what he wants with me. Does he always check on newcomers like this? As I mull it over, a thought occurs, and I ask, "My knives...I know I'm probably not allowed to carry them. But in the future, if I'm moved to patrol...may I have them back?"

He stops and turns towards me, raising his eyebrows. "You that fond of 'em?"

I think of the dual machetes always strapped to my sides, the various collection of knives of varying sizes and makes. I remember their familiar weight, the way I practiced constantly until I was confident with each weapon. I think of my favorite knife, with a pearl handle and thin blade, perfect for hurling. 

"Yes," I say honestly, meeting his hazel eyes, which dance with amusement.

"I fucking understand that," he replies, gloved fingers sliding reverently over Lucille's handle. "Don't worry, doll. They'll be kept nice and safe until I think you're safe to have them again."

Before I can reply, a short man with a riot of dark curls jogs up, bowing to Negan before murmuring, "Car's ready for you." 

"That's my cue," Negan says, flashing me a smile so charming that it makes me fidget. He doesn't miss the movement, my cheeks heating as he laughs and turns away, leaving me standing there like an idiot. Shaking my head as if it could physically clear my thoughts, I turn and start back towards the compound. More and more people have spilled out into the yard; the women I saw yesterday starting on laundry, sleepy-eyed children, gardeners. It must be nearing time for breakfast, so with Carter as my companion, I slip back inside and upstairs to my shared room. 

Kiyah is still sleeping when I enter; gently I shake her awake, holding up my hands comfortingly when she startles. "It's alright," I murmur, watching as she glances around, recognition and relief settling upon her features. 

"Time is it?" She mumbles sleepily. 

"Seven o' four. Time to get moving."

"How long have you been awake? Since sunrise?"

"As always."

By the time Kiyah is dressed and ready, it's nearly a quarter past seven. Together we leave our room and descend the stairs to the first floor, where I lead my sister and furry companion to the cafeteria Simon pointed out the day before. 

Already it's moderately full; I feel eyes upon us as we enter, though never once do I break my stride. Even when Kiyah falters uncertainly, I pull her along with me to an empty table tucked away in the corner. Carter settles beneath my chair when we sit, and I pointedly ignore the murmurs around me as they take note of the "newbie and her dog". 

After a moment of sitting, a girl balancing a full tray on her hip saunters over. She's older, mid-thirties maybe, with golden blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. As she sits down a plate before both Kiyah and I, I see her gaze constantly slide towards Carter, a wounded look in her gaze. 

"Did you have a dog?" I find myself asking. "Before?"

Her gaze snaps to mine guiltily, but when she sees kindness in my eyes, she nods. "German Shepherd, too. Different colors, but...she lasted for a while after it started before she went down fighting off a biter for us."

I feel my heart ache; I worry about the same fate befalling my own companion. "You...can pet him, if you'd like. His name is Carter."

The woman hesitates for only a moment before she sits her tray on the table and kneels, holding out a hand towards Carter. He has always been a good-tempered dog; like most others, he thrives on attention and is generous with his affection, unless given reason otherwise or ordered to attack. Eagerly he licks at the woman's hand, and she laughs as she buries her fingers in his ruff. I exchange glances with Kiyah, who has a soft, happy look on her face. 

"Thank you," the woman says when she at last stands again. "I'll have to wash my hands now, but it was so worth it. He's a lovely dog. My name is Julie, for the record."

"Kiyah," my sister says cheerfully. "And my sister, Mazia."

Julie smiles and then bustles off to the kitchen, tray in hand. Feeling distinctly lighthearted, I glance down at my plate for the first time; oatmeal and canned peaches. Nothing extravagant, but leagues better than what Kiyah and I are used to eating. 

I'm halfway through my plate, with a generous portion pushed aside to feed Carter with later, when a man in an apron approaches. He's younger than Julie, with black hair and kind green eyes. He slips into the chair across from mine as I glance up at him, watching as he offers up a bowl of plain oatmeal to me. 

"Oh, no," I protest softly. "I mean...we didn't order seconds. We're new here, and..."

"I know," the man says, smiling. "Julie told me. I'm James, the head chef. Look, we pretty much always have leftovers - especially from breakfast. When Julie told me about your dog, her entire face just lit up. And I know you can't really afford extra for him right now. So...may I?" 

He gestures towards Carter and I nod, speechless, watching as James leans down to set the bowl of oatmeal before my Shepherd, who promptly chows down. 

"I...thank you," I say, finally recovering my senses, and James beams. 

"Always happy to help. But I better get back before they set something on fire," and with a wink he's gone, leaving me floored. 

When I first encountered Negan, when I first considered living at the Sanctuary, I'd been uncertain of what I would find. After the brutality of the beating I'd witnessed, I wouldn't have been surprised to find a band of cruel barbarians. But instead, since arriving at the Sanctuary, I've only been met with...kindness. Towards me. Towards my sister. Even towards my damned dog. I'm strangely touched. 

We both eat slowly, reverently, enjoying our first hot meal in ages. Afterwards we sit talking even after the plates have been cleared away. Only when it's nearing half past eight do we rise and slip from the cafeteria, where we find that Simon is already waiting. 

After a quick introduction to Kiyah and a brief interrogation on Simon's part, he decides that Kiyah will work in the kitchen. She seems content with this, and I'm happy knowing that she'll be with kind people, such as James and Julie. After she ducks back into the cafeteria to go meet her "co-workers", Simon leads me down the hall and out of the doors of the compound, his steps loud and heavy on the concrete, mine near silent. 

"You'll meet in this little supply building here each morning," Simon says, gesturing to the shed tucked behind the compound as we approach it. "Then Allan'll give you your job for the day."

I say nothing as Simon leads me into the large shed, stuffed with various tools and items for grounds-keeping. An older man is present, consulting a scribbled piece of paper on a clipboard, his hair a thinning gray. He glances up as we enter, dark eyes flitting from Simon to me and back again. 

"Newbie here for ya, Allan," Simon says. "Mazia. Good with electrical shit, apparently. 

"Electrical?" The older man, Allan, asks. "Were you an electrician in the past life or somethin'?" 

_My fathers eyes, crinkled and kind as he beams at me. "Look here, Maz. See this wire? The green and yellow striped? That's the ground."_

"No," I reply. "My father was. He taught me a few things, here and there. I just enjoyed learning."

Allan shrugs. "I won't complain about that. Not all construction work will be electrical, but I'm sure it'll be put to use eventually. The others should be here soon."

I nod, glancing towards Simon. "Thanks for showing me the way." 

"All in a days work," he replies, lifting his hand in a halfhearted wave as he turns to stride away, leaving Allan and I alone. 

There's an awkward silence as I look around the shred; anywhere to avoid his probing gaze. It's not that _he_ makes me uncomfortable; he seems fine. It's just that I know what he'll ask before he opens his mouth. 

"Not an electrician...so then what were you before all of this?"

_My parents sitting across the table from me, excitement shining in their gazes as I reach with trembling hands to open the letter addressed to me. "Don't be nervous, sweetie," my mother says soothingly. "Either way, it will all work out."_

_I nod and swallow, throat dry as I unfold the thick, creamy parchment within. My heart seizes as my eyes scan the words on the page, and when I look up, my eyes have filled with tears. My father looks stricken. "Oh, honey," he says. "It's alright. There are other - "_

_"I got in," I choke out, a grin sweeping across my face as the tears fall. Tears of joy. "I got in to Juilliard."_

I sweep my hand across a dusty shelf and say, "I was a dancer."

"A dancer?"

"Not that kind," I say with a laugh. "Ballet."

"Any good?"

 _Seven percent acceptance rate,_ I think. But I only shrug and reply, "Decent."

The door opens and two men enter the shed, one older, one young. They glance at me curiously, and Allan says, "This is our newest; Mazia. This is Harold," with a sweep towards the older man, "and Kyle."

They seem pleasant enough, and I smile in greeting. As the time ticks closer to nine, several others enter; a middle aged woman with tired eyes and rough hands named Margot, and two other men, both slightly older than me, named Anthony and Caden. Introductions are made, and Allan instructs Caden to show me the ropes while he takes inventory. 

Caden leads me to a nook where nails line the wall, a tool belt hanging from each one, stuffed with everything one could possibly need save for heavy duty tools. I take one and fasten it around my waist, notching it tighter than I'm comfortable with. I've lost weight over the past few months, but with time and warm meals served at the Sanctuary, I know my hips will return to their familiar shapely state. 

"Alright," Caden says, leading me outside. He's just slightly taller than me, with a burst of blond curls and brown eyes. "So construction consists of a lot of things. Basically anything that's broken, we fix. The main concern is the fence, though we haven't had a breach in ages. You'll walk the perimeter of it at the beginning of your shift, and again at the end. If nothing is wrong, you'll proceed to your tasks for the day, which Allan will give you. He just wants you to shadow me today though."

Here he pauses, and I watch as he glances down towards Carter, who has silently been trailing behind us the entire time. 

"Is it alright if he comes along?" I ask. "Negan allowed me to bring him, but if it'll be a problem while working, I can leave him in the room."

Caden shrugs. "If Allan didn't say anything, it's probably fine. It'd be a different story if it was the kitchen or something, but construction...not much he can screw up, as long as he stays out from underfoot."

Caden leads me around the entire perimeter of the fence, and then inside the compound. I shadow him as he patches up a hole in one of the cafeteria walls, changes several flickering light strips in the hall of the men's floor, fixes a lose knob in one of the showers, and various other tasks. He allows me to rewire the cable of a lamp in a grateful mother's room; I'd forgotten how much I missed the movements of my deft fingers curling the right wires together, the snip of my wire cutters, the pride when the lamp clicks on. It all comes back to me immediately, as familiar as an old friend. 

When I'm done at the end of the day, I fill my belly with warm soup, and retreat to my room, where I fall gratefully into bed. Kiyah comes in shortly later, smelling of food but smiling contentedly. 

For the first time in years, it seems as if everything will work out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. I didn't mean to write a double chapter, but after tonight's episode, I had so much muse. =) Enjoy!

  
_I'm a wanderess_  
_I'm a one night stand_  
_Don't belong to no city_  
_Don't belong to no man_  
_I'm the violence in the pouring rain_  
_I'm a hurricane_  


A month flies by. 

I slip into routine. Surprisingly, I find that I enjoy construction - even when it consists of unclogging shower drains and toilets. Allan is a fair boss, and my coworkers are kind. Caden in particular has grown close; it's nice to take my breaks with him sitting near me on the benches outside, a cigarette clutched between his fingers as he amuses me with stories from before. 

Slowly, Kiyah and I earn points. We exchange our scratchy blankets for warm quilts, buy clothes when we can, and whatever else our hearts desire. A brush for Carter, books, and gloves on my part. Magazines, fluffy socks, and granola bars on hers. An alarm clock, scented soap, razors to shave with. And Negan, true to his word, has his men bring bags of dog food into commissary. Sometimes small, sometimes large; usually dry, sometimes wet. Cat food, when they stumble across it. Carter is well fed either way, and I'm not complaining. 

Slowly, Kiyah and I accumulate to life at the Sanctuary. She makes friends in the kitchen, friends whom she spends her free days with, always returning with bright eyes and a wide smile that warms my heart. I remember just before the apocalypse, when there was a rift between us; she was proud of me, of course, but resentful of the way my parents fawned over me, and hurt that I was leaving for Juilliard. A two and a half hour drive seemed like an impossible rift when it came to us, we who had never been separated and always close. 

I'd gone for her immediately, when everything had gone to shit. I'd driven as fast as I could until I was home. By then, our mother had already fallen victim. So swiftly, it spread. 

As I make my rounds of the fence at the end of my shift, I find myself thinking of my father. He was strong for us, even after mom died. We survived holed up in our house, for a while. But eventually we ran out of food and water. It was then that we and the remaining members of our once friendly neighborhood - so few now - banded together to travel. We were just outside of New York, and the biters were beginning to form hordes. So we left. 

My father, Kiyah, Carter and I. Mr. and Mrs. Fields from two houses over. Sarah Gomez and her two children. The young college couple, Mark and Svetlana. And, of course, Laurent Rhodes. His name alone makes me shiver. 

"Cold?" Caden calls as he strides towards me, two mugs in hand. He is bright-eyed and grinning in amusement as Carter brightens at the sight of him. 

"Not really," I reply, gesturing with my glove-clad hands to myself. "New coat. Fur hood and everything. Whaddaya think?"

I give a little twirl and he laughs at he stops near me. "Not bad. Fits like a glove. Coffee?"

He offers me the mug and I sigh gratefully, taking it between my hands. "You know how to win me over," I comment, walking with him towards the nearest picnic bench. Carter settles beneath me as I hop onto the surface, bracing my boots on the seats. "Thought it was your day off. You shouldn't be out here in the cold."

"Yeah, well. I knew you were on duty. Wanted to bring you something warm."

He's kind like that, Caden. From the first day, he's been a friend. "You shouldn't waste points on buying extra coffee for me."

"Oh, come on, Maz. It's only a few."

I shrug, not bothering to reply. He'll only laugh it off, anyways. 

"Request a transfer yet?" He asks me, hoisting himself up beside me and sipping his coffee. 

I shake my head. Allan has remarked on how hard of a worker I am, how far I could go here at the Sanctuary. I've meant to talk to him about possibly putting in a good word for me to the overseer of the patrol unit. But I haven't been able to, yet. 

"Good," Caden says. "I'd miss you."

I laugh, as I always do when he says things like this. A part of me knows that he means it in a way I'm not yet ready to comprehend, but the other part of me insists that I am being silly, that he only wants a friend. 

For some time we sit there, exchanging idle conversation, laughing and joking like old friends. Until the doors to the compound fly open, and Negan steps outside. 

The reaction is ingrained in me now. I slide from the table at the same time as Caden, both of us sinking to our knees. And now that Carter has seen me do so countless times, he automatically bows as well. 

I can _feel_ Negan's gaze on me; it's hot and heavy and so very delicious, even as a part of me sneers at the thought. I do not look up. Only once he calls, "as you were!", do we rise again. I watch with interest as he and a group of Saviors stride towards the garage. 

"Another supply run," Caden comments. I've heard rumors that Negan has been making frequent visits to Rick's community to further emphasize his point. That he is always there. That he sees everything. That they are _never_ safe. 

I think of the group, then. The ones I accidentally found myself involved with. The terror on their faces. The smell of blood and Negan's giddy laughter. I've thought little of them since Negan scooped me up and offered me a home. And why would I have? I owe them nothing.

\---

I wake to darkness. 

Groggily I roll over, peering at the alarm clock on my end table. Four AM. For a moment I let my eyes flit closed, unsure of what has woken me. But then I feel it; the undeniable urge to pee. 

Sighing quietly under my breath, I slip out of bed, sock-clad feet touching the floor. Carter stirs from his makeshift bed of extra sheets I bought, determined to follow me as I slip from the room. Bleary eyed, with my ebony hair swaying around my waist, I pad down the hallway to the bathroom, hand lifting to the light switches only to find…

Out. All of them. I scowl and look up, though I can’t see the bulbs in this darkness. I’ll inevitably be the one to fix this tomorrow, but I have to go _now_ , and I’m far too tired to bump around in the dark.

I think of what Simon said to me that first day, so long ago; there’s a bathroom on the third floor, too. Usually for the men, but from my time spent repairing things up there, I’ve noticed that females will sometimes slip inside when they live on the third floor with their significant others. And so with a sigh, I trudge back out and up the stairs, noticeably irritated at my sleep having been interrupted by this inconvenience. 

When I’ve finished upstairs, I slip from the bathroom and flick the light off, fully prepared to go back to my room and fall asleep until my alarm will inevitably wake me at eight. But as I’m approaching the stairwell, I hear it.

It’s faint; it echoes in the stairwell still as I freeze, tilting my head to one side. Beside me, Carter is stone.

Did I imagine it? Surely I’m just tired – 

And then, again. From further up, a scream.

I’m moving before I can stop myself, climbing the stairwell, pausing on the fourth floor. The private quarters. I listen, only the sound of my breathing audible. Even Carter has gone quiet beside me.

Again. The next floor. Negan’s quarters.

I pause. He’s gone still on his supply run, has been for two days now. Which means that someone up there is in trouble, and from what I’ve heard…it must be his wives.

I slip up the stairs, heart pounding as I press open the door on the landing, forcing myself to be slow, quiet. A long hall riddled with doors stretches, with light flickering from one near the end. I hear sobbing, pleading, the voice clearly feminine – and then a low, cruel laugh. Male. Definitely not Negan. 

I glance towards Carter, and my fingers twitch, the first two twining together, the third curling inwards – the nonverbal signal for “stay”. He slips down into a sitting position, eyes burning holes between my shoulders as I slip silently down the hall.

“ – please, we only agreed to this because we wouldn’t have to work. We have nothing to do with his plans, _please_ ,” a woman is sobbing.

“Doesn’t matter,” the masculine voice says. “Gotta get rid of everyone he cares about. Don’t think he cares about you whores, not really, but gotta be sure.”

There’s a cry, a telltale gurgle, and the sobbing of more women. I’m halfway down the hall now, wishing bitterly that I had my knives.

“If any of you sluts scream again, this won’t be quick for you,” the man warns. There are only whimpers in response.

I’m so close now that I call smell the room; perfume and blood and fear. I stop just outside of the doorway, wavering. Whoever it is, they could be facing me the moment I step inside. Still, I can’t just leave these terrified women to fend for themselves. Gritting my teeth, I peek around the frame, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight before me.

It’s some kind of parlor, stuffed with sofas and lounge spaces, with a refrigerator in the corner. There are three bodies strewn in the middle, all women, all with their throats cut. A burly man stands with his back to me, brandishing a bloody knife in the direction of two cowering women, one with brown hair and wide eyes, the other's blonde hair cropped short. Their eyes flick to me briefly, just as I lift a single finger to my lips, urging them to be quiet. To my relief, they are.

The man is too busy terrorizing them to notice me. My footsteps are silent on the carpet as I slip into the room, gaze scanning my surroundings. There’s an abandoned, empty plate on the table nearest to me, but no knife. A fork will have to do.

Quietly, carefully, I lift it from the plate. 

“ – sorry that it had to come to this, girls,” the man is saying. “But Rick Grimes has offered us a far sweeter deal for disposing of Negan. I’m sure you understand. Things will be better, afterwards.”

He reaches out to grasp the brunette harshly by the throat, yanking her forward. She lets out a raspy gasp as he lifts the knife, and at that moment, I slide forward. He does not hear me, my approach covered by the sound of the woman’s gurgles. And he is laughing when I lift the fork, plunging it into the side of his neck so hard that it lodges within flesh and bone. Stunned, he releases the woman, who scrambles backwards. He whirls, blood spraying, eyes wide as he stares at my face. But I’m taking no chances; I wrench the fork out so hard that my shoulder pops in protest, before stabbing it into the center of his throat again. 

At the same moment, there is a cry from the hallway, a vicious bark, and a scream. I jerk back when I’m certain that the man before me is no harm; blood gushes violently from his neck, and he gasps for breath as he falls face-first to the floor. I reel backwards, flying into the hallway, prepared for more assailants – 

Only to find another man, bloodied and dead on the floor, his throat ripped out. Carter’s eyes gleam as he looks up at me, blood drenching his muzzle, pooling around his paws. 

“Good boy,” I say, and he rushes to my side. Together, we duck back into the parlor. I hold my hands up to the quivering women, my voice smooth when I say, “I’m here to help you. I live at the Sanctuary. My name is Mazia.”

The blonde women is too shaken to respond, but the brunette lifts her chin and says, “I’m Sherry. This is Amber. And…and thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

I nod, my eyes flicking to the corpses of the women on the floor. Negan’s other wives, I assume, now dead and gone. Blood coats my hands, splattered across my pajamas, but still the women rise when I offer my hands to them. Together, the three of us move into the hallway. I lead them past the body of the second man, down the stairs, all the way to the first floor and outside of the Sanctuary. 

The sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon, but already, many men are gathered just within the gates. As one, they all turn to me, and I realize that those from the supply run have returned. I see Dwight, incredulous and still. Simon, who’d remained and who presumably had only risen to welcome the men back, wide-eyed and uncertain. And there, magnificent in leather, standing taller than the others: Negan.

There is a burst of movement as they rush towards us. I release Sherry and Amber, both who stumble forward to meet the entourage. 

“What the _fuck_ happened?” Negan roars, hazel eyes alight with confusion and rage. He looks from his wives to me, noting the blood on me, on Carter. 

“Jerry turned on us. He was working with Rick,” Sherry says as she holds a trembling Amber. “He slit Sierra, Madison, and Yana’s throats. He was going to kill us. But…Mazia killed him.”

A dozen pair of eyes turn to me then; Negan’s burn into my core as I lift my chin, golden eyes blazing. And when I speak, my voice is strong and certain.

“It was the very least I could do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for your reviews and comments! I can't even explain how much it means to me. You all are amazing. <3

  
_That you're no longer alone tonight_  
_You're coming into your own tonight_  
_One of the brave and the bold tonight_  


I sit in Negan’s office, in a chair before his personal desk, drumming my fingers against the upholstery as I try to pretend that I’m not nervous. It’s a foolish attempt; Carter himself can smell it on me, proven by his gaze constantly flickering in my direction, his breathing swift and heavy, as if he’s preparing for action.

But even if one _didn’t_ have the glorious senses of an animal, they’d still be able to see it. From the movement of my fingers, to the quickness of my breath and the swiftness of my darting gaze, it is obvious…no matter how much I school my expression into passiveness. 

Negan ordered me brought to his office seconds after the ordeal in the yard, when I brought his two blood-splattered wives from the compound. And now here I sit, awaiting him while he disposes of the traitorous bodies and comforts his terrified wives. Wives whose lives I saved. Wives who looked at me as if I were some kind of…of savior.

It’s ironic, and I begin to laugh – just as the door swings open.

“Something funny, sweetheart?” The familiar voice intones behind me. I don’t dare turn; I simply shake my head.

“Not really. It’s just…everything from the past hour, I guess,” I say, honestly. Negan comes prowling into view, Lucille swinging bloody and splattered at his side. Comforting wives must not have been all he was doing – he was sniffing out more traitors. 

He stares at me for a moment, perhaps seeing the honesty in my eyes as he props Lucille against the wall and sits in the chair across from me. For some time, there is silence.

“So,” he says at last, and I’m instantly alert, drinking in his words. “I talked to Sherry and Amber about what happened. Amber is practically singing your fucking praises from the mountaintops, but if what Sherry says is right, I can’t really blame her. They gave me their version of events, but I want to hear yours.”

So I tell him. Every little detail that I remember, down to the last bit. When I’m done speaking, there is silence once again as Negan observes me. His hazel eyes sear like flames as they search my face for lies. He finds none.

“If I’m being perfectly fucking honest with you, I’m furious,” he says at last, kicking his boots up on the desk that separates us. “Furious that men I trusted dared work against me. Furious that they killed three of my fucking fine ass wives. And furious that I wasn’t here to stop them.”

I nod when he pauses, understanding.

“But you were,” he says. “Sherry says you moved like a goddamn ghost.”

_”You’re so light on your feet. It’s almost scary,” Kiyah says, laughing. “Like a ghost.”_

“You told me you were good with knives. I suppose I should have fuckin’ believed you,” he continues.

“Well, to be fair,” I blurt before I can stop myself, as if my mouth is separate from my brain. “I used a fork.”

His laughter is sudden and booming, genuine, making my own grin spring to my face in retaliation. “A goddamn fork. Yeah, I saw the body, sweetheart. You did a number on him. And I am so incredibly grateful. To show you just how grateful I am, I’ve decided that I’m going to give you your knives back. And I’m going to move you to patrol.”

My heart surges in response; it’s exactly what I’ve wanted, but it feels sweeter to know that I’ve proved I was worthy, instead of scraping and begging. “I…thank you. I won’t fail you.”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he says, flashing me a smile that makes me melt. I’m ashamed of my reaction, though I have little time to dwell on it. “And your first assignment as patrol will be to accompany me and my Saviors to pay a little visit to Rick the Prick.”

Of course. After the lives lost, after what he has just learned, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Still, it makes me feel strange to know that soon I’ll be standing before the group I once tried to help. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.”

So soon. Kiyah will be wondering where I am as she wakes and shuffles off to the kitchen; still, I don’t dare protest. Not when he’s offered me what I’ve craved since arriving here. “Gladly.”

His dimples are prominent when he smiles. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says, rising and striding around the desk. He pauses before me, so very close as he leans down, the smell of him wafting over me. Leather and sandalwood and soap, an intoxicating mixture that makes my eyelids flutter. He notices, his grin widening as he leans even closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe. 

“I’m down three wives now, you know,” he says softly, warm breath ghosting across my skin. Goosebumps rise immediately, and I lean backwards simply to preserve my dignity. “Want to be wife number three?”

“They’ve been dead less than an hour,” I point out breathily, trying to still my racing heart. “Besides, I’m much more useful sneaking around and killing things for your benefit.” 

“Suite yourself,” he says, and something about his tone somehow makes _me_ feel disappointed. I try not to dwell on it. “Pack your shit and be ready by seven. Three, possibly four, days worth of supplies. We’re gonna make Rick regret this.”

I nod immediately, already cataloging what I’ll need in my mind. 

\---

Three clean t-shirts. Two clean pairs of jeans. Four pairs of underwear. Four cans of dog food for Carter. A light blanket. And, blessedly united again, my knives, strapped at my hips, calves, sides, and hidden within my boots where they belong.

I’m ready long before seven, though I linger, leaving Kiyah a note. And then Carter and I make our way to the yard, where we wait patiently for Negan. It’s exciting in a way to know that this will be my first patrol…but intimidating to know that I will be used against Rick. I remember his pale blue eyes, his stern demeanor, and I sigh.

When Negan steps from within, we all bow; it comes as a surprise when he insists that Carter and I ride with him, along with Dwight. We pile into the same Jeep that I was brought to the Sanctuary in, with Negan driving, myself riding passenger, and Dwight and Carter in the back seat. 

The majority of the drive is quiet, save for the tapping of Negan’s fingers against the steering wheel and Carter’s quiet panting. I rest my forehead against the window as I stare at the world flying by; it’s the first time I’ve been out of the Sanctuary since the night the Saviors first found me.

Only once we’re nearing Alexandria does Negan say, “Look sharp, sweetheart.”

In reply, I murmur, “Always.”

There is a palpable sense of dread bleeding from the community as the Jeep slides to a smooth stop outside of Alexandria’s gates. Behind us, six trucks stuffed to the brim with Saviors halt as well. Thirty-three of us, including myself, Dwight, and Negan. The sentries on the gate, a dark-skinned woman with her hair pulled into a bun and a Hispanic woman with a dark scowl on her face – both familiar – exchange glances.

Beaming, Negan rolls his window down and leans out, waving cheerfully, as if he were coming to exchange gifts instead of punish them. “I’m ba-aack,” he coos in a singsong voice. “Hurry the fuck up and open the gate. I don’t have all day. Well, I _do_ , but I don’t intend to waste it on you fucks.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then the pair of them climb down. I watch as slowly the gate slips open, the dark-skinned woman standing beside it. The other is nowhere in sight. 

“Ran to get Rick the Prick,” Negan murmurs under his breath, clearly having noticed the same thing. The rumble of the trucks behind us sound like growls as we file into Alexandria, which is nothing like I expected. It’s…quaint, with matching houses, neat lawns, and a crowd of casually dressed citizens forming. 

“Biters roaming around outside the gates, and they’re living in something straight off the cover of Good Housekeeping,” I murmur, and I’m rewarded by Negan’s booming laugh. Even Dwight huffs out a chuckle in the backseat. 

“Showtime, sweetheart,” Negan tells me, swinging the car door open and stepping out. I follow suit, holding the door open long enough for Carter to spring out. Negan is all lethal grace as he prowls towards the growing group, Lucille swinging at his side as he begins to whistle. Saviors crowd around as Dwight and I move closer, stopping only when Negan does on either side of him. Carter is bright-eyed and alert beside me, triangular ears perked high atop his skull, brown eyes watching as the crowd parts and Rick appears.

He’s moving quickly, with the dreaded woman in tow, her hand on the hilt of a katana. My own palms slide across the hilts of my twin machetes in response. The longer I watch, the more I recognize the faces that approach; the greasy-haired man who immediately scowls at Dwight, the boy with a bandage slapped over one eye, the portly man with a mullet. I watch as one by one they recognize me, too, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing.

Rick gazes at me the longest as he stops at the front of the gathered crowd. I meet his gaze boldly, feeling no guilt. _Nothing that happened to them was your fault,_ I remind myself. _You owe Negan your life now._

At last Rick looks to Negan, expression guarded. “Forget something?” He asks, and Negan laughs.

“Rick, Rick, _Rick_ ,” he sighs as he shifts Lucille to rest on his shoulder. “I think you know exactly why I’m fucking here. In fact, I bet you didn’t expect to see me _ever_ again. I really did think you’d learned your lesson, but apparently fucking not.” 

To Rick’s credit, he manages to keep his expression passive. “What’s this about, Negan?”

“It’s about the little coup d’état you planned with a few of my men the last time we were here,” Negan says. I glance at him, unable to help myself. He’s spectacular, towering above Rick with a look of undisguised fury on his features, his knuckles prominent from how hard he’s gripping Lucille. I slide my gaze across the coils of barbed wire, pitying whoever will pay for Rick’s insolence this time. “It’s about them killing three of my fucking fine ass wives. They would have killed the other two if it hadn’t been for this one here. Fuckin’ spectacular, isn’t she?”

He hikes his thumb at me and grins. I stand quiet and impassive as multiple pairs of hateful eyes turn towards me; beside me Carter shifts and growls, inevitably sensing the thickening tension. 

“Shame she didn’t end up on your side, innit?” Negan taunts, flashing teeth that are unfairly white in the wake of an apocalypse. “But I’m getting off track. The point is that after I smashed open the heads of your men like overripe fucking watermelons, I would have thought that you’d learned your lesson about killing my people. And I _especially_ thought you’d be smarter than to think moving against me with my own men would work. But it seems as if I overestimated you, Rick. And now you’re gonna have to fucking pay, again.”

Immediately, Rick’s hand slides towards his gun, only for the group of Saviors partially surrounding him to hoist their own weapons in reply. 

“If you resist, I will personally kill every fucking one of you, do you hear me?” Negan asks. When no reply comes, he cups a hand behind his ear and leans forward, Lucille swinging down from his shoulder. 

“Yes,” Rick growls out at last, and Negan nods. 

“Good.” There is a moment where nothing happens, and then abruptly Negan explodes into movement, long limbs moving as he pivots, swinging Lucille with a grunt. The bat crunches wetly, sickeningly, as it smashes into one of the men who’d hovered just off to the side of Rick. There are gasps from the crowd, sobs, the sound of retching as Negan swings again. The poor man is dead by the second hit, skull caved in grotesquely, wavy brown hair soaked with blood. It’s everywhere, dripping from Lucille as she swings again and again, splattering Rick’s clothing as he stumbles back. A few droplets reach even me where I stand beside Dwight, blank-faced and silent as we watch together. 

_”Spencer!”_ comes an agonized wail; I glance into the crowd to see the man with the mullet holding back the sobbing Hispanic girl. For a moment she struggles in his grasp, and then she slips from his hold with a howl of animal rage, rushing blindly towards Negan with a knife drawn. 

I move without thinking, slipping behind her as I slide a knife from my belt – my beloved pearl-handled blade, beautiful but lethal. It’s at her throat the next instant and she freezes, her momentum carrying her just a bit too far, the blade biting into the skin of her neck. It’s a shallow cut, barely oozing blood, but she yelps and recoils into me.

“Drop the knife. Not another move,” I murmur into her ear, and another snarl of rage slips past her lips as she complies with my demand.

“You’ll pay for this, _puta,_ ” she spits over her shoulder at me, wild-eyed, practically foaming at the mouth with her rage. I remember the way she sobbed when the red-haired man had died; now she has seen two men she cared for beaten bloody by Negan. It appears to have driven her very near to madness. “All of you will.”

“Rosita,” Rick rasps, his voice hoarse, quiet. “Don’t.”

“How dare you stand there and watch as he waltzes in to kill more of us,” she gasps, tears flowing with wild abandon down her pretty face. Still I hold her, knife steady at her throat. “How can you live with yourself? _¡Ellos están muertos por tu culpa!_ ”

Negan’s laughter rings out – not the genuine laughter I’d heard earlier that morning in his office, but the maniacal laughter I’d learned means he's trying to scare people. And it's working.

“Oh, _man_ ,” he says as he straightens, slicking back strands of hair that have fallen into his face. “What a hell of a time.” He turns to see me holding Rosita, brows hiking skywards. “Well you’re a feisty little bitch, aren’t you? Here’s how this is gonna work. Mazia is gonna let you go, and you’re gonna take your little ass back over there to cower behind Rick. Or I’ll fucking kill you, too. Don’t like to kill women, but if I need to, I will.”

The girl says nothing. I can feel her heaving, gulping breaths as she glares at Negan. And then I release her, keeping a firm hold on my knife as she slinks through the crowd. I continue to trace her movements even as she angrily breaks free of the crowd to stride towards a house; it’s the only reason I see the other woman.

Not a woman. A girl, young, with long dark hair and pale skin. She’s creeping carefully from the group off to one side, the view of her blocked from the majority of the Saviors by one of the trucks. Negan, Dwight, and I are the only ones who can see her – but Negan is busy demanding total loyalty once again from Rick, and Dwight is busy taunting the greasy-haired man with the crossbow he holds. 

So it’s only me that notices her as she slips around the truck, moving towards…

I follow her determined gaze, squinting, to see crimson gas containers several feet behind the truck. She’s stupid if she thinks she’ll be able to get to it, soak the Saviors in it, and light it on fire before anyone notices her - there’s a long stretch of unprotected land between the last truck and the gates that the containers sit against.

“Hey!” I call, my voice high-pitched and ringing, drawing the gaze of everyone as I interrupt Negan, who whirls. But then he, along with the others, follow my gaze and see the girl, who has frozen like a deer in headlights. 

“Enid, no!” Rick shouts, just as Saviors begin reaching for their guns. And then the world explodes into chaos.

The stupid girl turns and _runs,_ yanking a lighter from her pocket as she makes a b-line for the containers. Saviors draw their guns and aim just as the Alexandrians begin shrieking, and above it all there is Negan bellowing, “ _She’s a goddamn kid, don’t shoot!_ ”

“Carter,” I say, noticing how his gaze is intent upon the running girl – Enid. “ _Sturm._ ”

_Assault._

He explodes into movement, his muscled frame darting forward, streaking past the Saviors and sprinting for the running girl. He is beautiful to behold, body stretching and folding, over and over. He is gaining speed swiftly, practically a blur, and as the Alexandrians begin to shout warnings, Enid turns – just as Carter leaps.

He’s airborne, my wonderful dog, jaws gaping, teeth glinting, paws outstretched. Enid screams as all eighty-five muscled pounds of canine collide with her, sending her sprawling, her breath leaving her in an audible rasp as she smacks into the concrete. Carter’s teeth sink through the layers of her jacket, latching onto her arm, and she screams. 

“ _Halten!,_ ” I call, _hold_ , and he obeys; holding but not shaking, which would inevitably rip the poor girl’s skin to shreds. Carter continues to hold the girl until Dwight reaches the struggling pair, yanking Enid up by her collar. She is crying as Dwight tosses her before Negan, her nose bloody from her impact with the concrete, jacket torn. And she shivers when Carter brushes by her to lope to my side, panting proudly as I pat him.

“Anyone else planning something fucking stupid?” Negan asks, glancing around.

“Negan, please,” Rick grinds out, blue eyes shining with fear as he looks at Enid kneeling on the ground. “She’s just a child, she – “

“Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist. I’m not gonna kill her,” Negan snaps, shaking his head. “Or did you _not_ hear me commanding my men to stand down? I could have let them riddle her with bullets until she looked like Swiss cheese.”

He looks to Enid then, shaking his head. “Little girl, what, exactly, did you think you were gonna do with a can of gas and a lighter? Blow all thirty of us up? Under different circumstances, sure, but here…” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, gesturing to a portly woman with brown hair and glasses. “Take her to your doctor or whoever the fuck looks people over.”

“Don’t have no doctor,” the greasy-haired man spits venomously. “Your man there shot her through the eye with one of my arrows.”

“Oh, right, right, I heard about that. Thanks for the refresher, Daryl,” Negan says, grinning. “Well, take her somewhere. Get her the fuck out of my sight. And in the meantime, find somewhere for me and my men to stay. I think I’ll be paying Alexandria a little…extended visit.”

He turns away from their stunned expressions to face me. Though he is covered in blood, disheveled, strands of hair still stubbornly falling into his eyes, he is breathtaking. I suck in a gasp that he must hear, because he grins, hazel eyes roving across me.

“As for you,” he says. “Let’s fucking talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to give Carter his moment to shine, too ;) Also, what Rosita says is, "You are the reason they're dead".


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annddd another chapter! I can't stay away from these two. ;)
> 
> Someone asked me a few chapters ago about face claims for Mazia and Kiyah. I've been searching, and will let you all know as soon as I find appropriate ones! <3

  
_On a mountain he sits, not of gold but of shit_  
_Through the blood he can look, see the lives that he took_  
_From council of one_  
_He'll decide when he's done with the innocent_  
_On his face is a map of the world_  


Negan leads me back to the Jeep, assigning Dwight and another man to keep watch over the car while the rest of the Saviors ensure that the homes Rick assigns to them are safe. I slip into the leather seat after instructing Carter to sit beside Dwight, who eyes the dog warily but does not protest.

The scent of Negan washes over me as he slips into the driver seat, the door closing quietly behind him. He turns to look at me, silently appraising, his eyes roaming over my face. I wonder if I imagine the way his gaze lingers on my lips before he speaks. 

"Well, you're really fucking something, doll," he drawls, lips pulling upwards into a slow smile. I feel my cheeks heat, but don't dare look away. "I'm starting to think it was my lucky damn day when I found you and that dog in the woods. Where'd you learn to move like that?"

I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable as I look down, picking at a thread on my sweater. It's not like it's some big secret - I told Allan, after all. But somehow telling Negan feels...personal. 

A gloved hand reaches out, making me shiver when the cool leather brushes my skin. Negan lifts my chin and my gaze flicks to his. "I was a ballet dancer," I say, feeling strangely silly. "Not at first. I spent three years at a local state college studying business before I built up the courage to apply for a transfer. I got into Juilliard a few years before this all started, moved to New York. I was on my fourth year, with interest from Lyon Opera Ballet, in France - they're big. And then everything just...went to shit. Kiyah, my father and I banded together with a few survivors from my neighborhood. Moved west together. One of them was ex-military, and I begged him to teach me how to use a knife. I thought I was useless, you know? What good would a dancer be? But it turns out that it did a little good, I guess."

"Fuckin' right it did. Never seen someone move so quick and quiet," Negan comments. "Then again, most of my men are bumbling fucking morons, so there's that. Either way. I've never seen anything quite like you, and that's a damn steep compliment. Keep playing your cards right and you'll rise right up through the ranks. I could use someone like you watching my back."

I blink in surprise, unsure of what else to say. He's still holding onto my chin gently, and it seems as if he realizes it at the same time I do. Slowly, almost reverently, a single leather-clad finger traces a path from my chin to my lips, lingering there. There's a strange look on Negan's face as he leans forward, minty breath ghosting across my face. He's so close that I can see the different shades in his hazel eyes, and my heart thunders into a gallop. 

"Wouldn't hurt to have such a stunning guard, either," he muses as my cheeks heat. "Especially one who blushes so fucking prettily."

My mind is racing, devoid of all thoughts that do not involve _him_ \- how good he smells, how handsome he is, how even the blood splatter on his jacket cannot deter me. When his lips brush mine, the barest whisper of a kiss as gentle as a breeze, I gasp. 

There comes a sharp rap on the window and I reel backwards just as Negan growls and glances up to where Dwight stands on the other side. The windows are heavily tinted; I know there's little chance he saw what was going on. But still, I'm flustered. My blood is practically boiling and my stomach is knotted. If just a brush of Negan's lips can do _this_ , would I even survive more? 

"House is ready, boss," Dwight calls, voice muffled by the glass. 

"Fucking fuckers always fucking everything up," Negan snarls under his breath, and unable to stop myself, I laugh. "What?"

"Could you possibly say squeeze a few more 'fuck's into that statement?"

His grin stretches languidly as he gazed at me. "Don't challenge me, doll."

He steps out of the car without further taunting, and I'm left partially dumbfounded as I scramble to follow. Carter falls in alongside me as I scamper after Negan, legs working overtime to keep up with his long strides. Behind me, Dwight snorts, and I arch a brow at him over my shoulder. 

"Something funny?" I ask with mock-contempt. His lips twitch as he shakes his head at me. 

"Just don't break a leg." 

"If you just jinxed me, I'll break _yours_."

I glance forward to see that our banter has caught Negan's attention. He frowns but says nothing as more Saviors fall into place beside us. Rick is waiting, his lips pulled into a tight line, the man Negan called Daryl hovering just behind him, along with the woman with dreads. 

"Five or so men to a house," Rick remarks, his voice a growling monotone. "Six houses. Your people have searched them all."

My gaze flicks up, finding where Saviors stand beside the doors of the six houses in question. Negan nods; he'll inevitably set a tight watch around the houses. 

"You heard the man," he calls to the Saviors, grinning. "Home sweet fucking home."

The Saviors begin to divvy themselves up as they approach the houses. I waver for a moment, wondering where I'll go, when Negan suddenly turns to me and says, "you'll be staying in that one there with yours fuckin' truly. You too, Dwight."

"Who else?" Dwight asks. 

"Fuck if I care. Pick two of the least obnoxious people and put them on first watch." Negan watches at Dwight sulks off to do so, before turning his gaze on me. My skin is still heated from the memory of his proximity in the jeep, and he drags his gaze across me, nice and slow. "You're blushing again, sweetheart. Excited to sleep so close to me?"

My gaze flicks towards where Rick and his companions still hover nearby. Rick is staring at us with narrowed eyes, and Daryl is scowling, judgement shining in his gaze.

Negan follows my line of sight, grinning. "Oh, I'm sorry. Where are my fucking manners? But really, you can't blame me, can you, Rick? Just look at her. Fine as hell, ain't she? Would you fuck her?"

The dreaded woman's expression sours as she shifts towards Rick; a minuscule movement, but a possessive one that I don't miss. 

Neither, apparently, does Negan. 

"Good to see you again, Michonne," he drawls. At last, a name to put to the face. "Don't look so fucking thrilled. I'm just bustin' Rick's balls. Now, I'm going to sit my ass down and relax in that sweet ass house. Don't let me hear a fucking peep of trouble."

He spins on his heel, striding towards the house with Lucille on his shoulder, and I turn to follow. But then a growling voice stops me in place - Daryl's. 

"How can you live with yourself? Seeing what he did to Abraham? To Glenn?" 

I don't turn. "I was only there that night because I tried to help you. And you were only there that night because, if rumor is correct, you slaughtered Saviors in their sleep. All from the word of a man at Hilltop." 

At last I glance over my shoulder, looking between the three that stand there, staring at me. My tawny gaze settles on Rick at last, and he shakes his head. 

"You could have came with us instead. You could have fought against him," he says, quiet. "But instead you decided to crawl right into the bed of a monster."

Anger crawls up my spine as I turn, eyes narrowing, fingers brushing against the hilts of my machetes. Behind me, Carter rumbles a growl. "What I do is _none_ of your business. I owe you nothing. _Nothing._ How nice it must be to ignore your own sins while you judge others for theirs, all in the name of survival. But let me tell you something; the world is not what it used to be. The same rules do not apply. I'd suggest that you learn that, quickly."

From the porch, Negan calls, "Mazia? Any problems?"

"No," I call, maintaining eye contact with Rick for a long moment before turning away, striding towards where Negan waits for me. "None at all."

\---

I try not to let Rick's remarks bother me as I take advantage of the hot water at Alexandria. There's hot water at Sanctuary, too, but usually limited due to the sheer amount of people using it daily. 

There's enough for Negan, Dwight, and I as we each take our turns. Afterwards, I curl into the couch in the living room, running a brush through my hair as I think about the earlier encounter. Really it's not Rick's opinions that bother me - it's the nerve of him, to so swiftly make assumptions and to judge without knowing a goddamn thing. 

Carter lays at my feet, eating the remains of his dinner, and Dwight is somewhere in the kitchen rummaging through the pantry. 

When Negan strides into the room, smelling of soap and dressed in a clean white t-shirt that stretches attractively over his muscles, I gaze at him subtly through my lashes. He sighs as he drops into an armchair, legs sprawled as he begins to carefully unwind the barbed wire from Lucille to clean her with a damp rag. His movements are gentle, almost loving; it makes me think of how it would feel to have his hands running across _me_ like that. 

_Stop it, Mazia. He's your boss, technically. And he has two wives._

"You gonna just sit there and stare at me all night?" Negan asks without looking up. 

"Sorry," I murmur, quickly looking away. 

"Didn't say I fucking minded, did I, doll?"

Before I can answer, Dwight calls from the kitchen, "there's stuff for spaghetti."

"Sounds delicious," Negan calls back flatly. 

"Mazia?" Dwight returns. 

"What, you think because she's a woman she wants to cook for you sorry fuckers?" Negan replies before I can answer. "You don't know how to make fucking spaghetti? _Everyone_ knows how to make fucking spaghetti."

"I know how to make spaghetti," I murmur dryly. "'Fucking' spaghetti though? Never heard of it."

Negan glances up at me, gaze smoldering. "I can show you how to make it any time, sweetheart." 

There's the sound of pots banging from the kitchen, and after a while, the sound of noodles boiling. I continue to brush my hair until it's dry and shining, flowing straight down to my waist. When I look up again, Negan is watching me with hooded eyes, a strange look on his face. Lucille is clean and re-wrapped, propped against the wall. 

"You gonna just sit there and stare at me all night?" I quip, mimicking his earlier tone. He flashes me a devastating grin. 

"Can't help it," he murmurs. "Maybe we can resume where we left off in the car."

Before I can reply, Dwight shuffles into the room carrying two plates, which he hands to Negan and I before returning to the kitchen to retrieve his own. The three of us eat in silence. Though the noodles are slightly overdone and the sauce meatless, it's still a warm, filling meal that I'm grateful for. 

After I've finished, I stand and pad on silent, sock-clad feet into the kitchen to wash my plate and the bowl I served Carter in. Then, leaving Dwight and Negan to their quiet conversation over Alexandria's obedience, I slip upstairs with Carter on my heels. 

It's a three bedroom house, which works out perfectly with two people always on guard duty. I move into the bedroom nearest to the stairs, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The room is simple but homey, with a queen sized bed, a dresser, and a desk. I light a candle on the beside table with a match from the drawer, and recline back against the pillows as Carter settles at the foot of the bed.

It’s not long before I hear heavy footsteps thudding on the staircase. A moment later a knock sounds, and at my urging, slips open. Negan stands there in all of his glory, smirking at me, Lucille strangely absent. I scoot into a sitting position as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Everything okay?” I ask, glancing towards my arsenal of knives atop my dresser.

He laughs. “Fuckin’ peachy. Just came to see how you were doing.”

I quirk a brow in disbelief, and he chuckles. 

“And to ask a question,” he clarifies.

“Go on.

“What did that prick say to you earlier?”

Memories of the counter flash through my mind. I sigh, but answer honestly. “He said that I could have joined him, instead of you. And that I’d crawled into the bed of a monster.”

Negan grins. “If only you’d crawled into my fucking bed. Even Rick seems to think I’m a pussy magnet, though.”

My nose scrunches at the ugly word. Not that I’ve ever been a stickler for language, but something about it rubs me the wrong way.

“Oh, sorry,” Negan says, prowling closer. “Would you rather me call it a ‘delicate flower’?”  
I laugh. “I’d rather you didn’t call it anything at all.”

“Scared you’ll get wet?” He asks lewdly. 

“Negan,” I murmur, exasperated. 

“I like the way my name fucking sounds on your lips, doll,” he murmurs. “Say it again.”

Suddenly I realize how close to the bed he is, my heart hammering. I slip off the other side as he begins to prowl around, backing up. For every step I take backwards, he takes one forward, until my back is against the wall.

“Negan – “

“Good girl,” he purrs. 

My stomach lurches, and there is a tinging fire burning between my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “No. I mean – “

But then suddenly he’s right in front of me, hands on either side of my face, trapping me against the wall. I feel so small, so delicate compared to his finely chiseled frame, towering over me, and I exhale raggedly. “Negan. Just…just wait.” 

“Is that really what you want?” He asks, his nose brushing against the space beneath my ear, making me tremble. In that moment, all I sense is _Negan_. He’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and I tilt my head back as his nose trails down to my neck, where he nuzzles and kisses. Before I can even think, his mouth lifts to mine, his lips coaxing mine open as my body traitorously arches into his. His massive hands are on my hips, yanking me closer, his stubble rubbing against my chin as I yield to him. He is everywhere, all consuming, making my body ache for him. I haven’t felt like this in _years_ \- certainly not since the world ended. And as his hand slides underneath my shirt and up my side, his skin scorching against mine, I nearly come undone.

But just as his fingers are brushing against the bottom of my worn, lacy bra, I pull away. My hand splays against his chest, tiny in comparison, but he stops. My lips miss his the moment they’re gone.

“I can’t,” I pant, breasts heaving, hair disheveled. 

“Sure you fuckin’ can,” he growls, so seductively that I almost melt. “Just say the words, and I’ll rock your fucking world. That’s a guarantee.”

“I…” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t.”

He sighs. “And why not?”

“I can’t be…just another notch in your belt,” I force myself to say, despite the way my body screams for more. “I can’t give myself to you, Negan.”

After a long moment, he steps back, leaving me cold and barren. I stare up at him, fighting the desire that courses through me. Still, I think he sees it; he smirks and nods.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough and desirable. “I’ll have you begging for me eventually.”

And before I can reply, he turns and strides from the room, leaving me in a puddle of indecision and desire.


	7. Chapter 7

  
_You and I'll never die._  
_It's a dark embrace._  
_In the beginning was life, a dawning age._  
_Time to be alive._  
_I will never forget the moment, the moment._  
_I will never forget this night._  


I suck in a deep breath of cool, crisp morning air as I sit on the porch of the house we were assigned, my boots tapping a quiet rhythm against the stairs. It early, with all of Alexandria beginning to stir, and my watch has just started.

I watch as Carter sniffs around the front yard, my fingers toying idly with the hilt of my machete. Dwight is patrolling around the house somewhere, and so the dirty looks the Alexandrians give as they pass are only aimed towards me. I ignore them pointedly, too proud to be rankled by these people. 

More often that I'm comfortable with, I find myself thinking of Negan's kiss. It makes me feel flustered, warm, and a little irritated at myself for pushing him away - though I know I made the right decision. Still, what I told him was true. I will not be just another conquest or wife for him. I'll have him completely, or not at all. 

Which, frankly, means not at all. Why would he set aside his wives for _me_? 

There comes an excited, gurgling coo, and I glance up to see Rick's son - Carl, Negan had said - standing at the edge of the yard, scowling. There is a bright-eyed toddler in his arms, and she gives another excited little squeal as she waves fat fists at Carter. 

Carter is, of course, intrigued. He stares at the child with a slowly wagging tail, though he does not immediately approach. Maybe he senses the venom radiating from Carl; one would have to be beyond oblivious to not notice it. 

Still, I try to offer an olive branch. He's only a kid, after all. "She can pet him, if she wants. Carter loves kids."

"Yeah, I could totally see that from the way he treated Enid yesterday," the boy snaps. 

"That was because I commanded him to. And I did that because the girl was about to do something horribly stupid. You think I'd tell him to bite a toddler?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," he returns. "Not when you're following and worshipping a psychopath."

I pointedly roll my eyes. "Right. I'm a terrible, murderous monster who eats babies for breakfast and kittens for dinner."

He continues to glare at me as the child reaches in vain for Carter. Just when I'm about to tell him to get lost, his gaze shifts to the bright-eyed shepherd and he sighs. Slowly, carefully, he sinks to a crouch. Taking this as an invitation, Carter pads forward, and the toddler gives a delighted giggle as she begins to pet and prod him. Carter only offers a furiously wagging tail in response, not even batting an eye when the girl tugs his ears and sticks a finger in his nose. 

"What's her name?" I ask. 

"Judith. I named her."

"Good name." He scowls at me as a response and I shake my head. "Didn't your father ever tell you that if you keep making faces, it'll get stuck like that?"

"I'm not _five_."

"Sure act like it."

He continues to scowl but says nothing, seemingly content to let Judith continue her delighted exploration of Carter, who has laid down patiently. 

After a long silence, Carl speaks again. "How can you take joy in doing this?"

"Who says I take joy in it?" I counter. I didn't expect the people of Alexandria to see me as anything more than scum; I'm not surprised by his questions. 

"Then why do it? Why follow Negan?"

"Same reason anyone does what they do in this screwed up world. To survive."

He says something under his breath that sounds like, "just survive somehow." I shoot him a curious glance, but he doesn't clarify. 

Before we can say anything further, Dwight steps around the corner, raising his brows at the sight before him, making the burned side of his face pull taut. 

"Got a little petting zoo going on here?" he asks, settling his hand on the holster of his gun. "Beat it, kid."

Carl's scowl has returned full force as he stands and whirls, striding away with Judith in his arms. Immediately Carter moves to my side, where he lays down with his head upon his large paws, eyeing Dwight. 

"You one of those girls who melts for kids or somethin'?" He asks, leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs as he studies me. 

"Not really. The little girl just wanted to see Carter. Easier to oblige than hear her wailing over it," I say. I don't know why I don't just tell Dwight that I didn't mind Carl's company, once he lightened up a little. Dwight would only laugh at me for it. 

He stares at me for a few seconds longer before shrugging and reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

"I don't smoke," I reply. "But thanks."  
My mother would roll over in her shabby, hastily constructed grave if I even thought about taking up the habit. 

The smell of cigarette smoke curls around us as we sit in silence, simply watching Alexandrians and Saviors shuffle by. 

All is quiet. Until the shouting starts. 

I climb to my feet immediately, tilting my head. "You stay here, and I'll go see what that's about," I say to Dwight. I can see he's about to argue so I add, "Negan needs someone trustworthy here keeping an eye out. It could be a ruse."

When he nods, I swivel and bound down the stairs, Carter trotting in my wake. The raised voices lead me to a row of houses, where several Saviors, Enid, Carl, and the dark-skinned woman with her hair in a bun are standing. I approach swiftly but quietly, though I don't miss how Carl's gaze slides to me. 

"What's going on?" I ask as I near, and they all turn towards me. 

"Bitch is nuts is what's going on," a burly Savior with a thatch of dark curls snarls. 

"I'll tell you what's going on," the woman snarls. "He's over here looming over Enid. Touching her face. Making suggestions no man should ever make towards a _child_."

My stomach lurches as I realize what she's insinuating. I turn towards the man with a quirk of my brow. "Is that true?"

"Just wanted to scare the little girl a bit," he says with a lecherous grin. I have learned in my time at the Sanctuary that Negan has no tolerance towards sexual violence - and towards a _child?_ I seethe. 

"I think it's high time for you to leave her alone," I say quietly to the man. I feel the Alexandrians behind me look at me in surprise. "You know this kind of behavior isn't tolerated."

"Excuse me?" he snarls. His hot, fetid breath brushes across my face as he steps towards me, towering over me. I wrinkle my nose but don't back away, glaring up into his angry gaze. "Who the fuck died and made you queen? I don't take orders from cunts."

My fingers drift longingly towards the knife concealed beneath my shirt as Carter begins to snarl, lips peeling away from his teeth. How good it would feel to sink it into his throat, see how much of a cunt he thought I was then. But before I can further consider it, the man lashes out, dealing a vicious kick to Carter's snout that makes him yelp. 

Quick as a flash, I pull a machete from its sheath and swing it downwards, where it embeds itself in his still-outstretched leg with a sickening thump. He screams and topples backwards, and like a wildcat I'm on top of him, baring my teeth in my own snarl as I hold a smaller knife to his throat. 

"You don't target children with your sick fantasies," I growl as he continues to howl pathetically in shock. "And you don't touch my fucking dog ever again."

"Well excuse the fucking shit out of me, but what the fuck is going on here?"

His voice is what yanks me out of my rage-filled reverie, my tawny eyes snapping up to meet his. Negan strides towards me with Dwight and several other Saviors in tow, and from the corner of my eye, I see Rick, Daryl, and Michonne swiftly drawing near as well. 

"My leg. The bitch butchered my leg," the man is blubbering as I climb to my feet, stepping back and wiping blood from my hands. Negan looks down at him impassively, and then to me, but before I can say anything, Enid's voice is ringing out. 

"He was threatening me. Suggesting that he wanted to..." she trails off, though it's clear from the dangerous glint in Negan's eyes that he understands. "Sasha heard him and stepped in. And then...Mazia showed up, tried to get him to back off. He threatened her too, kicked the dog. She swung in defense."

I'm astounded that she's bothering to stick up for me, after the previous day. But Carl is nodding along in agreement, and Sasha folds her arms over her chest as she sneers down at the bleeding man. 

Negan lifts a hand to brush his fingers across his salt-and-pepper beard. I can see the tension in his muscles, the rage in his eyes, as he looks down at the man. 

"That so, Lucas?" 

The man offers nothing but another pathetic wail. I glance at his leg with slitted eyes, the machete halfway embedded still, blood and bone glistening. The anger simmers inwardly, though on the outside, I am stone. 

"Well that's a fucking shame. Because eeeeverybody at Sanctuary knows my number one fucking rule. Everyone is informed promptly and in _no_ uncertain terms that I do not tolerate that rapey shit. I'd thought I'd made that fucking crystal clear, but apparently your dumbass didn't comprehend something. Either that, or you thought it would be a-okay to break one of my rules. That shit does not fly. Not at all."

He's grinning as he prowls forward, staring down at Lucas' pale face. "So let me - once again - prove to you fuckers that I'm a man of my word." He reaches behind him to unholster a gun, the noise loud and jarring as he promptly puts a bullet between Lucas' eyes. Then, straightening, he yanks my bloodied machete from the man's leg and offers it to me with a charming smile. I take it, sliding it back in its place at my belt. 

Now that Lucas is dead, I kneel down to inspect Carter's mouth, checking for chipped teeth, blood, or - god forbid - bone damage. Luckily there seems to be none, and I straighten, glancing around. 

Michonne and Sasha are guiding Carl and Enid away, but Rick and Daryl remain, staring at me guardedly. I glance towards Negan, who's shouting, "alright, fuckers, as you were!", and the crowd quickly begins to disperse. I move to follow Negan, his shadow, when suddenly Rick reaches out and places a hand on my arm. I stiffen at the feeling of skin against skin and he recoils, but nods his head at me...and surprisingly says, "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for," I reply. "We're all better off minus one pedophile."

I hasten to catch up to Negan before Rick can reply, troubled by a startling realization. I have not been able to stand the touch of skin since I was held down with a writhing, wet biter on top of me. And yet last night, when Negan was kissing me, his hands sliding under my shirt...I'd been too filled with desire that I hadn't noticed the usual uncomfortable crawling of my skin. 

So confused and startled am I by this revelation that I nearly collide with Negan's broad, muscled back as he comes to a halt. I neatly sidestep at the last second, glancing up just as he turns to face me. 

"Your dog okay, sweetheart?"

I'm taken by surprise, thrown off by the question. I falter but then nod, watching as he grins knowingly at me. "Yeah. Yeah, he's good." 

"Good," Negan rumbles before continuing on his way, leaving me scrambling in his wake. 

_Will I ever understand this man?_

\---

Negan and I sit up long after Dwight has gone to sleep, passing a bottle of wine between us and playing cards. 

I'm sure to take small, measured sips; Negan's protection is now my priority, and I cannot protect him if I'm drunk. He scornfully scoffs at the wine, proclaiming he prefers liquor, but it doesn't stop him from drinking it. 

I'm curled before the fireplace with my back against a chair, legs folded Indian style before me. Carter is snoozing in the doorway, and Negan sits directly across from me, dressed in a clean black t-shirt and jeans. His long legs are sprawled out, his socked feet almost reaching me where I sit as we take turns laying down cards. 

"So what were you?" I ask. 

"What?"

"Before all of this. I told you what I did, but you never told me your story."

He chuckles, hazel eyes flicking upwards to land on me. "Getting awfully bold with the questions, aren't you?"

I frown. In moments like this, where it's just Negan and I, he is no longer the manic, dangerous man that he is around everyone else. He's almost... _normal._ But what if I took it too far...?

"Relax, sweetheart. I'm fucking joking. Would you believe me if I told you I was a coach?"

"A coach?" My eyebrows shoot skywards, and he laughs. 

"Don't look so fuckin' surprised. I was a damn good coach."

I take another swig from the wine bottle before replying. "Alright. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"My turn to ask a question," Negan proclaims. "You said you left originally with a group of people. What happened to them?"

Unable to help myself, I freeze. Memories of Laurent Rhodes flicks through my head, and I shiver uncontrollably. Negan does not miss it. He frowns, cards forgotten as he leans forward. 

"Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Because I'll fucking - "

"Mr. and Mrs. Fields were nice," I say, cutting him off. I don't know why I'm telling him, but suddenly it's as I _need_ to get it out - before it chokes me. "Mr. Fields was military. He taught me how to use my knives. He was bitten a few months down the line. Mrs. Fields killed him, and then herself in grief. There was a young couple with us, Mark and Svetlana." I stumble over Mark's name, but continue. "Svetlana got sick. Really sick. We don't know how - drinking still, contaminated water though, I think. Then there was Sarah Gomez and her two kids; both of her kids wandered off one night. A group of biters found them. 

"Sarah wasn't the same, after that. It was just Mark, Kiyah, me, my father...and another man." My throat constricts painfully; it takes me a few times to say his name in a rasping voice. "Laurent."

Negan's eyes are narrowed. He is watching me closely, listening raptly. I look away. 

"Laurent and Mark were...strange, as we traveled. We'd always trusted Laurent; before his wife had died of cancer before the apocalypse, they'd babysat Kiyah and I. So we trusted him. Of course we did. Mark...well, he seemed friendly enough. So we stuck together, all of us, for a while. I was beginning to feel...odd, around Laurent. There was something unsettling about him that had never been there before. But I foolishly thought there were power in numbers, and my father...my father trusted him."

I dig my fingernails into my palms so hard that I begin to bleed. My silky hair forms a curtain around my face as I bow my head; hiding. "We found this abandoned house one night. Decided to hole up in it, for a while. Kiyah and I shared a room. In the middle of the night, I heard a strange sound; a series of thumps. Gurgling. Thinking a biter might have gotten in, I slipped out of the room...and I saw my father. Dead. His head smashed in. And over him stood Laurent, with this...this awful look of glee in his eyes. Mark didn't protest. Not once. Not as they dragged Kiyah out of bed, screaming, and tied Carter to the table. Not as Laurent dragged me to one of the back rooms, where a biter was waiting - no arms, no jaw. I had to listen to Kiyah scream while Laurent undressed me, forced me to lay on the ground, and let the biter writhe all over me. For hours. I don't know how many times I threw up. The feeling of it's flesh against mine, the sickening look of fascination and enjoyment in Laurent's eyes, the sound of my little sister's distress..."

I shake my head, trembling. The memories replay over and over, spinning faster and faster. "He didn't rape me. But make no mistake, he was going to. He tortured me forever - simply because he could. Kiyah swears Mark didn't rape her either, but I don't know if that's the truth. Something broke in me that day. When Laurent began to undress, I knew what I had to do. So I waited. I waited until he was distracted with ridding the room of the biter so there would be no distractions, and I picked up this big, ugly candlestick from the nearest table. And I killed him. I bashed his head in over and over, and then I went and bashed Mark's head in, too, while his back was turned to me. Too focused on Kiyah. And Sarah, poor Sarah, they'd kicked her out of the house during the night. I don't know where she went. What happened to her. She was half-crazy at that point."

There's a long silence, broken only by my ragged whisper. "I can't stand being touched anymore. The feeling of flesh against mine reminds me of that biter, dragging itself all over me. And god, we _trusted_ him and he..."

My voice breaks pathetically and I bow my head further in embarrassment, tears slipping down my cheeks. I'm a fool; he'll see how weak I am now, and send me away. 

But instead, Negan reaches for me. Gently he pulls me against him so I'm resting between his splayed legs, his hand in my hair as I rest my cheek against his broad chest. He smells of soap and leather, and I sob as I let my eyes flit closed. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, and I nod. Even though I can feel his fingers on my scalp and his hand splayed on my waist, the comfort outweighs the niggling disgust at being touched. 

"I'm really fucking sorry that happened to you, Mazia." I can't remember the last time he said my name; it sounds good on his lips. "And I'd fucking kill those bastards myself if they weren't already dead. I'd torture them like they tortured you, and only when they were _begging_ for mercy would I slaughter them and feed their bodies to the crows." He sounds quietly furious; the picture he paints with his words is...strangely alluring. 

"But they're gone now," he continues, "and you are one _hell_ of a woman. I'll fucking destroy anyone who ever tries to hurt you again, hear me?"

I nod, unable to speak. We sit there for ages, with Negan holding me, and me taking quiet comfort in his presence. The last thing I remember is drifting off, and flashes of Negan as he lifts me and carries me to my bed, covering me with a blanket and brushing a soft kiss across my forehead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting up for some important plot stuff in this chapter. I'm so excited to start writing it in this next chapter! Big things are coming. ;)

  
_Something in your eyes_  
_Makes me want to lose myself in your arms_  
_There's something in your voice_  
_Makes my heart beat fast_  
_Hope this feeling lasts, the rest of my life_  
_If you knew how lonely my life has been_  
_And how long I've been so alone_  
_If you knew how I wanted someone to come along_  
_And change my life the way you've done_  


I wake the next morning with eyes that feel entirely too swollen for my liking.

Groaning, I slip from the bed and into the connected bathroom, peering blearily at myself in the mirror. Wine, as little as I _thought_ I’d consumed, along with crying didn’t exactly do wonders for my face. Still, I lean close and try to look past the dark circles, the tired, unfocused gaze. I try to see what Negan sees, what draws him to me, inexplicably. 

I see wide, round doe eyes a lovely shade of tawny, flickering amber-gold in the light of the bathroom. Long, silken strands of hair frame my face, slightly ruffled by sleep but still shining. A pert nose, full lips, caramel-colored skin due to my heritage. I have never given much thought to my appearance, truly. I remember times in middle school when girls scoffed at me for it, proclaiming that I was ugly. Now, older and wiser, I realize that this is simply not true. I do not sing my own praises to the heavens as Negan does, but I am...content with myself. 

Still, I could have done with more sleep, and less crying. Memories of collapsing in Negan’s arms makes me cringe, and I look away from my reflection as I shed my stiff clothes from the night before and slip into a scalding shower. Afterwards I comb my hair meticulously, brush my teeth, and even spot a tube of old concealer for the shadows beneath my eyes, even though it’s a shade darker than I am.

I hesitate, but in the end, do not use it. The world is ruined and broken, and I no longer care about trivial cosmetics. Instead I slip back into my room, don a comforting pair of slightly faded leggings and a white t-shirt that stretches a bit too tightly across my chest. Followed by my boots, jacket, and arsenal of knives, I am ready for my approaching shift.

When at last I slip down the stairs towards the kitchen, I hear voices; the first is only slightly familiar, one of the Saviors who has boarded with us here – a quiet man named Joseph. The second is Negan, undeniably, and I pause at the bottom of the stairs. Carter peers up at me curiously, surely wondering what the hold up is.

_You're being stupid, Mazia. Just walk into the kitchen._

Lifting my hands to smooth my hair away from my face one last time, I take a deep breath and stride into the kitchen. 

Joseph is busy making something that looks vaguely like a sad omelette, while Negan leans against the counter, arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed. He looks so at ease, wearing a form-fitting white t-shirt, jeans, and boots. 

I glance away before he can catch me looking, but I still feel his gaze as it settles on me, tracing my path across the kitchen. 

"Well goodmorning, sunshine," he drawls, his voice like a soothing balm. I glance up briefly as I begin my usual morning routine - getting out a bowl, filling it with dog food for Carter, navigating around him while I scavenge for food.

"Morning, Negan," I manage, pulling an orange and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Morning, Joseph."

Joseph is a quiet, unassuming man, perhaps in his older forties. He smiles in my direction, lifting a hand briefly. “You’re up early,” he says.

“Guard duty,” I reply, digging my nails into the skin of the orange. 

“Thought you had it off this morning? Grant is outside with Dwight.”

I frown, turning with furrowed brows. I know it was my turn this morning – but the slight smirk upon Negan’s face makes me scowl.

“Gave you the morning off,” he explains. “We gotta pack up to go back to Sanctuary soon, anyways.”

I frown at him, though he’s not looking my way. I know the only reason he’s given me the morning off is because of what happened last night, and it makes me seethe. The last thing I want is for him to see me as incapable. Weak.

I’m silent as I move around the bar to perch upon one of the stools, leaning my elbows on the counter as I pick at the orange. I'm glad to know we'll be returning home soon; it's strange to be away from Kiyah. 

_Home._ When did I start thinking of Sanctuary that way? It's surprising, but...true. 

"Figure Rick got the message this time, boss?" asked Joseph, tearing me out of my reverie. 

"He fucking better have. I don't know how many of these Alexandrian fucks I'll have to kill before he does, otherwise. We're taking more of his shit this time, too. Teach him a goddamn lesson." 

I think of the way Rick looked when Negan killed the man - Spencer - and then again when Negan killed one of his _own_ men for the way he'd treated Enid. "I think he gets the picture now," I find myself saying. 

"I sure hope so," Negan says, shifting. "For now, though, I'm going to oversee the gathering of supplies. Come with me?"

It takes me a moment to realize he's speaking to me, but when I do, I nod, swinging off the stool as I finish the last of my orange. I follow him from the house like silent wraith, my much shorter legs working overtime to keep up with his long, confident strides. He leads us to the armory, where a flurry of movement is happening. Saviors are carting out the few scavenged weapons Alexandria managed to find on runs, and Rick stands by watching with folded arms and a clenched jaw. His scowl only deepens as we approach, but he does not dare disrespect Negan, his head dipping into a brief but respectful nod that makes Negan beam.  
“Pretty fucking pleased to see you’re giving up the guns easier than you did last time,” Negan says, coming to a halt entirely too close to Rick as he props Lucille on his shoulder. “No shit-of-a-kid here to wave his gun around and threaten me this time. Where is the one-eyed serial killer?”

“Watching his sister,” Rick answers gruffly, watching as a few men begin riffling through a duffel bag of guns. I don’t miss how much he seems to despise answering Negan’s every question, but he does not offer even a peep of defiance. Still, I keep my palms settled on the hilts of my knives, watching carefully.

“Let’s see what you’ve got for me today,” Negan says cheerfully, striding over to take a look in the bag. Rick and I both follow, watching as he sorts through the guns, whistling as he pulls out a sleek black pistol. “Ruger LC9s. Not bad.”

He pauses before he turns to look at me, toffee eyes pinning me in place as he strides towards me, offering me the gun in his outstretched hand.

“Here, sweetheart. You’re damn good with your knives, but you always need a gun,” he says, glancing slyly towards Rick. “Isn’t that right, Rick?”

Rick, who will be left with not a single gun in his arsenal after today, only nods. I watch him for another moment before focusing on Negan, reaching out to take the gun in my hand. It’s cool and surprisingly lighter than I would have expected; after checking the chamber and ensuring that the safety is flicked on, I slide it into the waistband of my jeans. I’ve used guns since the world went downhill, of course; I’ve just always found knives quieter. Easier to hide. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, darling,” Negan coos, turning away only after he’s noted the way my cheeks turn faintly pink. “Now, Rick. I know you’ll be sad to hear it, but we gotta get back to Sanctuary today. I know, I know; you’ll miss me.”

Sorrow is perhaps the furthest thing from Rick’s mind, but he only nods, keeping his expression neutral. I’m impressed that he manages even that.

“But before we load up and go, tell me one thing.” Negan steps forward, towering over Rick, who stares at the ground in defeat. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes,” Rick replies immediately, and Negan’s grin is wide and bright enough to block out the sun. 

“Good boy,” he says in return, slapping Rick hard upon the shoulder. 

It somehow still sounds like a threat.

\---- 

When at last we’re loaded up and headed back for Sanctuary, I’m relieved. Alexandria was nice, but it will be nicer to not have to glance over my shoulder the entire time. And nicer still to be home, with my sister and the people I’ve slowly grown to trust.

This time, it’s only Negan, Carter and I in the Jeep. It’s silent for some time, but a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by Negan whistling a tune. 

“You really proved yourself back there, doll,” he says at last, drawing my gaze to him. I feel strangely elated over the compliment. “Felt damn good to have you watching my back. Not that I fucking need it, but it’s appreciated.”

I can’t help but grin at that. “Of course. We all know the big, bad Negan is capable of taking care of himself.”

For a moment I wonder if I’ve pushed too far, but his laugh is loud and genuine, warming me. “Well damn, don’t go inflating my ego. It’s dangerous.”

“Is it possible for it to become inflated anymore?” I muse, comfortable with pushing my luck as I prop my boots up on the dashboard, considering. “Eventually it seems like you’d like explode from the sheer magnitude of it.”

“Careful, otherwise we’ll have to test that theory,” he quips in return. It’s nice to see the man behind the imposing, threatening leader that he usually is. I wonder if he allows anyone else to see this side of him. _His wives, probably,_ I think, but immediately shy away from the thought. I’d rather not dwell on it now.

“There’s a run I’ll need you to go on in a few days,” he says after a moment. “Nothing big, but I’m only sending people I fucking trust. Dwight, Joseph, a few others. You. Got rumor of a new community cropping up, but I hear it’s fucking pathetic.” 

_People I trust. You._ It’s a pleasing thought, and I nod. “I’m glad to go.”

He chuckles at that, offering a husky, “I know you are.”

It’s impossible not to think about the kiss in that moment. His voice makes me feel so very strange, as if my stomach is twisting itself in knots. As much as I tell myself I won’t, I think of the feeling of his powerful body against mine, his stubble brushing my chin, his lips coaxing mine open so effortlessly. I shift at the thought, scowling at myself. He chuckles again, and I swear he knows.

When we pull through the gates of Sanctuary, I’m both relieved and reluctant to climb from the car with Carter at my heels. Being in such close proximity to Negan without his usual show of power does strange things to me, thinks that I cannot dwell on. Not when he has his wives.

Immediately, the loud, boisterous, lethal Negan is back. He begins barking orders to his men to unload the supplies as I slip away, anxious to return to my room. It’s after dinner now, the sky dark, and I hope that Kiyah will be back from the kitchens by now. 

Sure enough she is, and her smile is infectious as I stride into the room. “Mazia! I’ve missed you so much. It’s weird sleeping in this room alone. How did it go?”

“As well as can be expected,” I reply as I flop onto my bed, kicking off my boots and sighing. I’ve missed this room, small and quaint though it is. “How were things while we were gone?”

“Normal. The kitchen is letting me do line prep now,” she tells me, beaming. I smile as I study her, noting how already she seems so much healthier than she was when we were on our own. Her form is filling out, no longer bordering on skeletal, and her cheeks are flushed prettily, signifying health and mirth. I wonder if I look the same: happy, content. At home.

I’m satisfied to lay on my bed and listen to her tell me about her friends in the kitchens – especially James, whom Kiyah has been spending quite a bit of time with. I’m happy for her, if not slightly lonely. It’s a precious thing to have someone to care for in times like these, and James seems nice. 

But still, there’s a part of me that envies her. Because I want someone to confide in, to spend my days with, to love and cherish. It’s a silly, childish want, and I do not let my face or tone show my jealousy. It’s petty, anyways, I tell myself.

And yet, it settles within my bones all the same.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I've found some FC's that I'm happy with! Mazia (and Carter's) is at the beginning. Kiyah's is at the end. :)

  
_Open your arms and pray_  
_To the truth that you're denying_  
_Give in to the game_  
_To the sense that you've been hiding_  


A week passes quickly after our return from Alexandria, and life at the Sanctuary slips into a normal, comfortable routine.

I spend my mornings eating breakfast with Caden before my patrol shift. Dwight always relieves me just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, and then I take my dinner with Negan.

It’s a strange addition to my routine, at first. When he invited me into his office that initial day, I’d thought I was in trouble. But he’d only invited me to sit across from him as a young, nervous-looking Savior brought up two trays of food. He’d been surprisingly…normal during the entire meal, and I’d found myself relaxing quickly, even trading quips and jokes with him as Carter slept happily by the fireplace.

He’d asked for me again the next night, and the night after that, until I’d understood that I was welcome to join him _every_ night. It had become normal for Kiyah to set aside two trays for me with a devious smile that always made me roll my eyes. She’d been incredulous and more than a little nervous at first when I’d told her where I was going, but over the last few days, she’s warmed to the idea. 

In a strange twist, Negan has also allowed me to shadow him on the mornings I don’t have shifts, prowling after him with my knives strapped at my waist and my gun at a holster on my thigh, silently daring anyone to try to make an attempt on his life like those foolish men who collaborated with Rick had planned to. I don’t know why I’m so protective of him – I’ve seen him kill men effortlessly, easily almost, before my very eyes. I know he does not need me. But I like knowing that I’m there, just in case.

Now, I ascend the stairs towards Negan’s apartments, two trays balanced in my hand, Carter at my heels. With my hands full, my only option is to kick at the door with my boots when I arrive, the moments ticking by until at last it swings open, revealing Negan standing before me. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt that shows off his imposing, masculine build well, and a pair of dark jeans. He makes a dramatic sweeping gesture that has me rolling my eyes as he steps aside, and I proceed into his office, carefully placing the trays upon his desk. Carter takes up his usual position in front of the fireplace, content and comfortable in Negan’s room.

“What’s for dinner tonight, doll?” he asks, prowling around the desk to take a seat in his usual chair. I sit across from him, sweeping the lids off of the trays.

“Looks like some kind of broccoli and cheese soup, bread, and canned peaches for desert,” I announce. He only grunts in reply as he begins to eat his food, and I follow suite.

There’s a moment of silence before Negan asks, “Favorite movie?”

It’s a game we’ve been playing for nights now. I mull over his question as I dip my bread in the soup, taking a considerate bite. “Phantom of the Opera.”

“You like that screechy opera musical shit?” He asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows at me across the desk. 

I point my spoon at him accusingly. “You said no judgements. Your turn.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs under his breath, spearing a peach with his fork as he takes his own turn to consider. “Didn’t watch a whole lot of movies before to be honest, doll. But I liked Sin City.”

“You would,” I murmur, and he parrots my earlier words back to me mockingly. “What food do you absolutely refuse to eat?”

“Octopus,” he says, shivering dramatically as I laugh. “What? It’s fuckin’ repulsive.”

“Mine is liver,” I say, frowning. “My father loved it. Absolutely disgusted me.”

“Did you ever try it? Liver’s not bad, doll.”

“Gross. Those are fighting words.”

“ _You’re_ going to fight _me_?” he asks, outright laughing now. His tone is teasing and…flirtatious, as it tends to be when we talk like this. I find that I don’t mind.

“Don’t look so incredulous. It’s insulting,” I sniff. We’re both nearly done with our meals, though this doesn’t bother me. He always lets me stay until I’m yawning and half-asleep. 

“One irrational fear you had,” he says, before adding, “or still have.”

“Closed shower curtains,” I answer immediately, frowning when he begins to laugh. “What? I’m serious. I always had this weird fear that there would be someone behind it, just waiting to spring out and stab me to death or something.”

He continues to laugh until I reach across the desk and swat him, muttering an indignant, “You said _irrational!_ ”

“Alright, sweetheart, alright,” he says, still grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Or, do, if you’ll let me _untwist_ them for you.”

“Oh don’t be lewd,” I murmur, trying to hide the way my cheeks flush. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t fear anything, love.”

“Bullshit. Be honest.”

“Alright, fine. Always made me feel fuckin’ weird to swim in deep, open water. Took a trip to Florida once, you know, and went out on a boat tour. I decided to jump in to swim a little and _man_ , was that a fucking bad idea.”

The thought of Negan lounging in Florida, clad in only touristy swim trunks and sunglasses makes me smile. But more than that, I know how much it means that he had admitted this fear to me. It’s useless, really – we’re nowhere near oceans. But still, he has confided something that could be considered a weakness, and I am so very grateful for it.

We sit in silence for a moment after we’ve finished our food, until Negan stands with a groan and moves towards a small cabinet on the other side of the room. He extracts a bottle of scotch, turning to raise his brows at me. The smile on his face is devious, dangerous, and so very alluring.

“Want a glass, sweetheart?” he asks, as he has every other night.

I have always denied the offer. Negan and alcohol seem like a bad idea. But tonight I hesitate, tucking my feet up in the chair and wrapping my arms around my knees. “Maybe just a little.”

“I knew I’d get you to go for it eventually,” he says, turning to begin pouring. “I like it when I can make good girls go bad.”

“God, are you always so dirty with your little innuendos?” I ask to mask the way my insides leap, my thoughts churning up ridiculously inappropriate images about just how _bad_ I’d be for him.

_Jesus Christ, Mazia. Stop it._

He is still smiling as he turns to prowl back towards me, his gait reminding me of the languid predatory jaguars I’d seen one day when our family had traveled to the zoo. So confident, and yet so very lethal, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he reaches to hand me a glass. I realize a beat later that I’m staring and avert my eyes as I take the scotch, though I’m sure he’s noticed.

“Clearly it doesn’t bother you that much,” he says slowly, “since you keep coming back for more.”

Instead of answering, I take a sip of the scotch. It burns going down but warms my stomach, making me sigh. 

“Just what I thought,” he gloats, grinning. But then his grin slips, and he takes a swig of his scotch before sighing. “Remember that scouting mission I meant to send you on?”

“With Dwight. Yeah.”

He nods. “You leave the day after tomorrow. Had to get some things in order. Shouldn’t be anything crazy or exciting, just a fuckin’ small community, but…be careful, doll.”

If I’m not mistaken, it almost seems like Negan is…worried. There’s a softness to his toffee eyes as he gazes at me, a sincerity. A part of me leaps in joy at the thought; the other scowls. Even if it _is_ concern, it’s not in the way that I want. How could it ever be, when he has two wives to bend over for him whenever he wants it – and will likely add more in the future? The thought seems cruel, scathing, and I take another swig of scotch to chase it away. I can’t blame Sherry and Amber for being his wives; fuck, it’s hard enough for me to turn him down. 

“I will be,” I say, when my throat has stopped burning. “I’m leaving Carter.”

He seems unhappy at this. “Why?”

“You said it won’t be dangerous. Better to let him rest here for a bit; let him watch over Kiyah. Should be a short trip anyways, right? He deserves a break.”

And he does. He’s been such a fantastically good companion, more than I could have asked for. I glance towards him dozing peacefully by the fire, wishing I could give him a calm, normal, stable life. Not one where he constantly has to defend me against flesh-eating monsters that could easily end his life. The thought of losing him makes me ache.

“I’d feel better if he went with you, Mazia,” Negan says, frowning. I glance back towards him, amber-gold eyes meeting toffee.

“I’ll be fine,” I insist. “You said yourself that it won’t be exciting or dangerous.”

He seems irritated by this. A part of me wants to bend in submission, while another stands strong. After a moment of staring at me he gets to his feet, moving around the desk towards me. My heartrate spikes; I tell myself it’s the scotch, but I know it’s a lie as he leans against the desk right in front of me, knees brushing against mine as he leans down. His lips are so close to mine, his eyes searing holes into me, freezing me in place.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, voice low, gravelly. Husky. It makes my core tighten, and I shift uncomfortably. 

Some stupid, idiotic part of me makes me look at the floor. When the words slip from my mouth, I don’t immediately recognize them. “You’d be losing a valuable aspect, if anything happened. Nothing more.”

There’s a long silence. I don’t dare look up. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Perhaps it’s the liquor, consumed entirely too fast. Perhaps it’s my own stupidity. Either way, I tilt my head back defiantly, chin set, eyes blazing as they meet his. “I’m amazing with a knife. Useful with a gun. Quiet. Skilled. It would suck to lose me, but the Sanctuary would move on. So would you. You have your wives to run to, after all.”

The silence is deafening this time as he stares at me, jaw clenched. The longer the simmering quiet stretches, the more uncomfortable I become. But I do not avert my gaze, and I do not flinch away, despite inwardly kicking myself for sounding like a jealous teenage girl. 

“You’re so wrong,” he says at last, voice still low as he leans even closer, breath ghosting across my cheek. My heartrate skyrockets. “So fucking wrong, Mazia. I don’t know what you want from me, or why. But if I know one thing, sweetheart, it’s that I fucking want you.”

I gasp as he lifts his ungloved hand to caress my high cheekbone gently, reverently. His calloused palms feel so good, and I nearly moan as my eyes flit closed. _This_ is what I’ve wanted. But then inevitably, I remember his wives. And I lurch backwards suddenly, tripping out of my seat, clumsier than I’ve been in months as I rush towards the door. Startled, I hear Carter rise to follow me. 

But even that cannot drown out the sound of Negan’s low, delicious laughter. 

“You want me, too, Mazia. And one day, I’ll make you beg. Until then…be fucking safe, doll.”

I slam the door on his raspy chuckles, breathing heavily, my skin flushed as I dart for the stairs at the end of the hall.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...this chapter is huge. I didn't expect it to be this long haha. 
> 
> More notes at the end of the chapter. Didn't wanna spoil anything, because, well...shit hits the fan.

  
_Pain_  
_Come alive_  
_I try to breathe,_  
_shade my eyes_  
_Follow the damned,_  
_I have lost the way again_  


The next day, I’m given my shift off to prepare for the approaching run. I scurry down to the cafeteria for breakfast that morning, stuffing my face as quickly as I can before darting back to my room to pack. It doesn’t take long; Dwight insists the run won’t take more than a day, and so I’m left with more time on my hands than I’m comfortable with. It leaves entirely too much time to think about Negan and my embarrassing outburst the night before. I’m lucky he didn’t acquaint me with Lucille for the way I spoke to him.

And still, his words won’t stop ringing in my head over and over, a constant loop. _”I fucking want you.”_

His words thrill me, and also somehow make me furious. If he’s playing some kind of game with me, it’s not funny; I’ve made it clear that I have no interest in becoming a wife or a side piece of tail. And yet still he’s bold enough to claim that _I_ will beg _him_. If my traitorous body had its way, perhaps I would. But as it is, my mind is too stubborn.

I spend the majority of the day curled up reading a book from commissary, a worn copy of _Equus_. I leave only to take Carter outside, and again at dinner time, creeping down to the cafeteria. I won’t dare show my face in Negan’s rooms tonight, so I grab a plate and settle into my usual table in the corner. It’s not long before Caden drops down beside me.

“Wow, I was beginning to think I’d imagined you or something,” he jokes. “Been a while since I’ve seen you eat down here. You hole up in your room or something?”

He’s prying; I smile and simply answer, “Something that like.”

His lips twitch faintly, and for a moment I feel bad, but I’m not about to tell _him_ I’ve spent the last week eating with Negan himself. Instead I busy myself with eating. Dinner is a fairly plain sandwich, a side of canned baked beans, and an apple. Nothing special, but I’m thankful for the meal all the same. And Carter, spoiled brat that he is, has become popular at Sanctuary. Men and women who are able to afford generous servings constantly stop by the table, slipping him food and patting him on the head. 

“If you keep getting all the scraps, people will think that you’re my pet pig and not my dog,” I tell him; his only response is to let his tongue loll out, and Caden chuckles.

“Oh, come on,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Let him be – “

He falls silent and I look up, confused, only to see that he is staring towards the door with a bowed head, much like everyone else in the cafeteria. The room has fallen silent, and it’s immediately clear why: Negan looms in the doorway, Lucille thrown over his shoulder, grinning.

The talk resumes as he begins to move through the room, though it’s much lower, quieter. I avert my gaze, but I can _feel_ it when he spots me at last, his boots thumping as he moves towards where Caden and I sit. 

“Theeere you are,” he drawls, drawing out the word. I know I have no option but to look up, so I lift my chin and meet his gaze, watching as he smiles. “Hi, gorgeous. I was wondering why you hadn’t come up for our usual…meeting.” His gaze flicks to Caden then, eyes narrowing the smallest fraction. “This why?”

“I just wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, after…” I trail off. I’m distinctly aware of the people around us listening, mostly Caden. But he’s my friend, and I do not like the irritated glimmer in Negan’s eyes when he stares Caden down. And Caden, bless his poor heart, is staring hard at the table.

“Last night?” Negan asks with a cocky quirk of his lips, swinging Lucille down to his side. “Come on, now, doll. I know you got a little _too_ carried away with the scotch, but you know you’re always welcome in my room. Come on.”

I’ve already finished my dinner, but I do not dare reject him in front of everyone. My cheeks are tinged pink as I stand, because I’m terribly aware of the way his words made it seem as if there was something…more between us. _Was it unintentional_ , I wonder as I trail behind him while he gathers a tray, _or is he just toying with me now?_

I don’t miss how the distinct sound of voices pick up, loud and speculative, the moment we leave the cafeteria. It irritates me, but I bite down on my lip to quiet myself as I follow Negan up the stairs, Carter faithfully padding along behind us. He’s quiet as he ushers us into his office, and I take my usual seat, not liking how uncomfortable I feel. I’ve never been uncomfortable in his presence before, not like this. 

He takes his seat across from me, his eyes sliding across my face as he begins to eat. Still, the silence stretches on, until at last I blurt, “You’re not mad at me?”

“Mad? No, doll, I’m not fuckin’ mad. A little disappointed that you skipped out on our dinner to sit with that kid though.” Now he’s frowning, studying my expression. “You fucking him or something?”

“No, Negan,” I say, exasperated. “We’re just friends. That’s possible between a man and a woman sometimes.”

He snorts. “I saw the way he was smiling at you before he noticed me. He’d probably lick the dirt off of your boots if you asked him to.”

“One, that’s disgusting. And two, I have no interest in Caden.”

He studies me for a while longer and then grins, satisfied. “Good. Didn’t like seeing you sitting there laughing with him like that.”

“Jealous?” I quip, quirking a brow, and he laughs. The sound is so soothing, so comforting, that I find myself relaxing. 

“Not even a little bit, beautiful. No man compares to me.”

“There goes that ego again,” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling. Despite everything, Negan and I spend the rest of the evening talking, joking, and catching up on our little game.

When I slip back to my rooms early to sleep for the run tomorrow, it’s with a smile on my face.

\---

The morning air is cold, nipping at me even through my sweater. I stand in the yard watching as Dwight double checks the vehicle, the sky cloudy and drab overhead. Waiting alongside me are Joseph, a guy perhaps a few years younger than me named Erik, and a stone-faced man called Percy. It feels strange to not have Carter sitting alert at my side, but I know he deserves the rest. Not to mention that it makes me feel better to know Kiyah will be protected.

Just as Dwight finishes checking the car, the doors of the Sanctuary open, and Negan strides out. He walks towards us jauntily, cheerily, whistling a tune that echoes. It’s difficult not to smile at the sight of him; I’d been hoping he would come.

We all kneel as he nears, standing only when he allows it. He looks to Dwight first, expression serious as he says, “Not that there’s any fucking way you could, but don’t fuck this up.”

“Course not, boss,” Dwight replies, monotonous. 

Negan looks over the other three men next, but says nothing to them. And then his toffee gaze settles on me. “Goes for you too, sweetheart.” His tone is hard, but his gaze is soft and smooth. I know what he’s trying to say without him needing to: be careful. I pat my various knives in reply.

“Got your gun, too?” He asks, satisfied when I nod. “Good. Now you guys get the fuck out of here.”

We hasten to obey, climbing into the car. Dwight settles behind the wheel, and I smile when I’m offered the passenger seat. I can’t imagine being sandwiched between two men in the back, skin brushing, too close for comfort.

The gates open and we’re off, gliding down the road in silence. Though the sky remains gray, there seems to be no threat of rain. I’m glad for that. Negan had assured me the night before that the rumored group was not terribly far, but as an hour passes, I find myself leaning my head against the window, dozing. Car rides have always had a way of making me tired; I remember many days spent slumbering in the backseat of our father’s truck with Kiyah while we drove home from vacations. Simpler times. 

I’m woken by Dwight’s voice not long afterwards. “Getting close. Scouts said they’re holed up in a little town around here.”

The trees begin to thin outside of the window, and surely enough, a tiny town comes into view. It’s rundown, most of the buildings sad versions of what they once were. Dwight steers the car at a slow rumble, each of us looking out, alert. For a rumored community, there are very little signs of life. 

Eventually, Dwight stops the car before a sprawling building that looks like it might have once been a town hall of some type. We’re all silent as we pile out of the car, shutting the doors as softly as we can. My hands immediately move to draw my knives, their hilts comforting in my palms as we approach the doors of the building.

There’s a low clamor from within: voices. The building opens to a wide room, but the voices seem to be coming from a door off to the right. There’s a brief pause where we all ready ourselves before Dwight bursts into the room, guns drawn, each of us on his heels. There are cries of surprise and panic, and as I step within, my eyes adjust to the low light. It’s a group of maybe twelve, mostly women and a few children. There are precious few men; I count three. 

“Well, well. Aren’t you a sorry bunch of shits,” Dwight says smugly, keeping his gun trained on the largest of men. I slip behind him, watching another man with something dark in his gaze. “See, we come from a big ass group not far from here. The Sanctuary. Heard of it?”

No one replies at first, and Dwight sighs, crouching down as he points his gun in the direction of a quivering woman. Rage simmers within me, but I say nothing; I _know_ Dwight is only trying to be intimidating. He won’t really hurt her. But they don’t.

“No,” the large man says at last, and we all glance to him. “We haven’t.”

“You the leader?”

“No. He’s not here.”

“Well then?” Dwight prompts, clearly impatient. “Where is he?”

“He and a few others are out hunting.”

“Hunting,” Dwight repeats, standing. There’s a table in the corner where a collection of canned foods are stored; there’s barely enough to make note of. “Let me tell you guys how this usually works. We come in – a hell of a lot more than what you see here, typically, but we heard you were a pathetic bunch – and we take half your shit. We continue to take half your shit each month. And – oh, gee, did I forget again? We usually kill one of you to make a point.”

The woman with a young child on her lap clutches him closer, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“But. You don’t exactly have much to take. So for now, we won’t. But we’ll continue to watch you. And if at any point in the future you become worth our time and energy, we’ll let you know.” Dwight winks at the man, sighing. “Buuut I still gotta talk to your leader. Make sure he understands the implications of what happens if he decides to grow some balls and fuck with us. So we’re gonna go outside and wait, and you’re all gonna hand over your weapons until we leave.”

At that, the rest of the Saviors and I begin checking those gathered for weapons. I try to check as many of the women as possible, my hands gentle, my touches brief. There’s a few knives and a single gun between all of them. Dwight shakes his head in mock-disgust as he stuffs them in Joseph’s bag, leaving he and Erik to watch the group as Dwight, Percy and I retreat outside.

It’s not long before we hear raised voices in the woods behind the building. Impatient, Dwight gestures for us to follow as he strides towards the trees. Though I’d feel much safer waiting, I follow. There’s a foot-worn path that leads us over a stream, shallow where we cross but deeper further down. A few moments pass before we find ourselves in a clearing. Three men are busy cleaning a sizable buck; they don’t even notice us until Dwight clears his throat.

Each of them whirl, two raising a knife. The older man in the front hefts a gun, only to find three aimed back at him. The pistol Negan gave me feels frigid in my grasp. Immediately defeated, each of them drop their weapons at Dwight’s command. Percy and I slip forward to gather them.

“So _you’re_ the leader?” Dwight asks the older man in the front. Reluctantly, the man nods. “What’s your name?”

“Bryan,” the man answers, voice deep and slow. “And who do I have the…pleasure of meeting?”

My eyes roam the woods as Dwight goes on his spiel, informing Bryan of the same things he’d told the group in the town hall. Bryan, when he at last promises to never dare stand against the Sanctuary, seems beaten down. Grim. A part of me understands what that is like; I have not forgotten when Kiyah and I were forced to survive on our own.

“Or,” Dwight says, and I glance up at him. “Each of you can come back to the Sanctuary. Every damn one of you. You’ll have to work and contribute if you want a place to eat and sleep and shit, of course, but it’s not a bad deal.”

“It’s really not,” I interject, noticing the disbelieving look on Bryan’s face. His pale blue eyes flick to mine, studying me. “My sister and I were taken in by the Saviors months ago. I was skeptical at first; I mean, I get it, you know? Men barge in with weapons, threaten you, make you sweat. And you have people to take care of. But trust me – your group is struggling. This is no life for children. The Sanctuary…the Sanctuary will fix that.”

I hadn’t meant to say so much; I can tell even Dwight is surprised. But slowly, Bryan nods.

“Would we be allowed to send a few people to see the Sanctuary, first?” He asks.

“Yep,” comes Dwight’s prompt reply.

“And they can leave at any time? Safely?”

“We’d gladly see them out.”

Bryan nods again, considerately. “Then let’s go back to the town, and we can ta – “

His voice is cut off by a volley of gunfire and shouts from the direction of the town. We all whirl, with Dwight snarling a curse.

“Did you fuckers do this? You think this is a goddamn game?” Dwight yells, holding his gun to Bryan’s temple. But Bryan looks frightened and bewildered as he shakes his head.

“No – no, it wasn’t us. Something is wrong at the camp. Please, my wife – “

Again he is cut off by gunfire. This time it’s behind us, in the trees. There’s a moment where I do not quite understand what has happened, and then Percy gurgles, falling forward, blood gushing from his throat. Shot.

“Go!” I scream to Bryan and his companions. Without their weapons, they’re little threat. Certainly not as much as whoever is behind us. They take off swiftly through the trees, Dwight and I on their heels. A bullet strikes the trunk of the tree next to me, and I gasp. 

The others have crossed the stream by the time Dwight and I reach it. There are more shouts from the town, terrified wails of women and the screech of an infant. The gunfire behind us is fainter now, but we must keep moving if we have any chance.

We’ve somehow veered off the trail, and we come upon a deep part of the stream. There is no time to find a shallower crossing; the water will be cold, but only up to the shins. Dwight surges ahead first and I follow, my foot slipping through the murky depths, settling on somehow that feels strangely metallic –

There is a twang, a splash, a scream. My scream. Something clamps hard around my ankle, and I feel the bones crunch, feel searing pain as I fall forward into the frigid water. I twist, terrified that I’ve been bitten, that I will die, only to see some strange contraption jutting from the water. An animal trap. I’ve seen bear traps before, but this is nothing like them. This contraption is strange and foreign, and my ankle screeches in pain as my nails scrabble at the freezing metal. 

“Mazia!” Dwight is there suddenly, crouching in the water, frantic as he tries to pry the trap apart. I can see from the horrified expression on his face that he is not familiar with this trap, either. We scrabble at it together, me sobbing at the feeling of the harsh contraption slipping against my splintered bones, but no amount of tugging or pulling seems to be able to free the hefty, heavy device from my leg.

There are shouts from behind; whoever was closing in on us is near. Soon they’ll stumble upon us both, and then only Joseph and Erik will be left – if they’re still alive.

“Dwight,” I sob miserably. “Dwight, you have to go.”

He shakes his head, snarling, his burns stretching gruesomely across his features. “ _Fuck that_. I’m not fucking leaving you – “

I laugh, the sound almost manic, defeated. I can see some kind of wire cable connecting the once-concealed trap to the trunk of a nearby tree now. There is no way for me to escape without disengaging it. And neither of us know how to. 

“Dwight,” I say again, even as he shakes his head.

“Negan will fucking kill me – “

“You have to get back to the Sanctuary. Whatever is happening, you have to tell Negan. Percy is already dead. Who the fuck knows what’s going on in town. Get back to the car. _Go_.”

We can hear footsteps now, drawing nearer, crunching through the leaves. Dwight hisses a foul curse as he stands up, chest heaving, staring down at me. “We will come back for you,” he whispers furiously. “We’ll fucking come back.”

And then he’s gone, slipping through the foliage towards the shallow part of the stream. “Hey!” I hear him scream, followed by the sound of a gun firing. I realize what he has done when the footsteps abruptly change direction, moving towards his voice. He has drawn them away from me.

Another sob slips from my lips. I’m shivering and cold, and the pain in my ankle is unimaginably searing. I know that I have to get out of the water, at least. But the feeling of dragging the heavy trap along with me, pulling at my bones, nearly makes me faint. I’m sobbing and sweating despite the cold when at last I collapse onto the bank. My clothes stick to my frame, soaked, and my hair falls in damp strings down my back. The dirt of the earth is cold and rough against my cheek, but I cannot move. I am here, trapped, alone, and Dwight may not even make it back to the Sanctuary to tell Negan.

I’m so very glad that I did not bring Carter now. He would have stayed beside me until the end – whether we died from people, biters, the cold, or starvation. He deserves more, and I know Kiyah will take care of him.

The gunfire dies out, eventually. I am not sure how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, cold and in agony. Sometimes, I dream. I dream that I am dancing again, weightless, swift, graceful. I dream that I glide across the stage like a waif, until suddenly I lose my footing and fall, my ankle snapping. I dream that I cry, because it means that I will never pirouette across the stage again.

And then I wake. Somehow, the sky is dark. When did night fall? My fingers are numb, my nose and ears not much better off, and my thoughts are beginning to become muddled. I wonder if Dwight made it back. I wonder if Negan knows yet. 

From the direction of the town, there comes voices and footsteps, growing louder by the moment. I freeze, knowing even in my addled state that I must be silent, must be a ghost. The only movement I allow is the twitching of my fingers, the pain in them harsh as I wrap them around my gun. I cannot even feel my finger on the trigger, do not know if I’ll be able to squeeze, but I have to _try_.

A group of men bleed from the trees, stopping the moment they see me. Feebly I lift the gun, but they already have their own trained upon me. 

“I need you to drop your weapon,” says the man in the front. He’s handsome, I notice immediately, though perhaps it’s my failing brain talking. His hair is long and blonde beneath a beanie, his eyes impossibly blue and his beard long but somehow tidy. He is dressed in a trench coat, and he kneels across the bank from me, the look in his eyes almost…kind. “That way, we can help you.”

Help me. I laugh at that, the sound weak, rasping. Still, I drop the gun. It’s not as if I can shoot it now, anyways. Will Kiyah miss me, I wonder, as I let my head drop back to the earth? Will Caden? Will Negan?

I’m aware of the bearded man crouching beside me, his group watching me with wary eyes as he takes note of the trap. 

“A conibear,” he says. “280, I think. You’re lucky it wasn’t anything bigger.”

Lucky. Another weak rasp escapes my lips.

“I know how to disengage it,” he tells me, voice grave, “but it will hurt.”

“I’ve never seen a trap like this before,” I whisper. My voice seems to be failing me. 

“I have. I used to hunt with my father.” He shifts, placing his hands on either side of the trap. I cry out at the searing throb in my ankle, and he frowns.

“Wait,” I say, and he looks up. I’m delirious now, wavering, and I find myself asking, “Who are you?” It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if I’m going to die, which seems inevitable at this point. I’ve been cold and wet for too long. Strangely, I’m at peace with the idea of leaving this fucked up world. 

“My friends call me Jesus,” he says. It’s the last thing I hear before his hands make a sharp motion, the trap releases, and the pain and exhaustion racing through me become overwhelming at last. I do not even feel the thud of my head hitting the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, here is a brief video of conibear traps being set off, for those of you who are not familiar with them. It’s only about 30 seconds long, and there are no animals in the video; the user demonstrates with a stick.  https://youtu.be/LRQxdvT0J8I?t=3m45s


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and reviews! It seriously means so much to me, and it just gives me so much muse to keep writing! I know I've been updating like crazy lately, and I'm glad you guys are loving it! I'm having a blast with this fic, and hope I can continue to keep churning out chapters!
> 
> With that being said, this is a short chapter from Negan's POV. Since it's shorter than the others, you guys will probably get a double chapter day. ;)

  
_I have kissed honey lips, felt the healing in her fingertips_  
_It burned like a fire, this burning desire_  
_I have spoke with the tongue of angels_  
_I have held the hand of a devil, it was warm in the night_  
_I was cold as a stone_  


He's reclining in the chair in his office, contemplating sending someone for his dinner, when a knock sounds at door.

"What the fuck do you want?" He calls, glancing up as the door cracks open. Simon stands there, his expression grim. Something in Negan's stomach immediately tightens. 

"What is it?" He's on his feet in an instant, reaching for Lucille, preparing for the worst. 

"Dwight's back," Simon says. Christ, but Negan doesn't fucking like the strange look in Simon's eyes, the twist of his lips. "Something went wrong."

Negan's moving before Simon can even finish, pushing past the man, long strides carrying him down the hall, through the door, down the stairs. He's barely even aware of people scrambling to bow for him as he slams the doors to the Sanctuary open, leaving Simon hurrying in his wake. 

The dark car they took is parked just within the gates, and the ones from the run are beginning to stumble out as he approaches. Dwight, bloodied but alert, his eyes wild. Joseph, carrying the young boy - Erik - who is bleeding and unconscious. Men rush forward to help even as Negan keeps scanning the car. 

No other doors open. No one else steps out. 

"What the _fuck_ happened?" Negan snarls, grabbing Dwight by the front of the shirt, shaking him. Dwight's mouth opens to explain, but before he can, Negan spits savagely, "Where. Is. Mazia?"

"Something went wrong, boss. The group was small, barely surviving. We went into the woods to meet their leader - he was hunting. And then everything just fucking went to shit. Gunshots ahead of us, behind us - it wasn't the group. They were ready to come back to Sanctuary with us. They were terrified. Percy went down first."

Percy. He'd been so focused on Mazia that he hadn't realized the other man was missing. 

"We were running back to town to see what the fuck was going on. We'd left Erik and Joseph there. There were gunshots behind us still and we came to this stream we had to cross and Mazia -" there's a pained look in Dwight's eyes that infuriates Negan. That makes his stomach ache. "She went down. Screaming. It was some kind of weird fucking trap, I tried to get her out but I couldn't and the men were getting closer. She told me to go. I drew them away from her, back to town. I fucking swore to her we'd come back."

"You left her there." The words taste foul and metallic on his tongue. He sees red. Nothing but red. "You fucking _left her there_."

"I didn't know what else to do, boss. I've never seen the men that attacked the town before, but there were more than us. We had to leave - "

He thinks of Mazia; bright, brilliant, stubborn Mazia. The way her eyes narrow when she smiles, the smooth cascade of her dark hair down her back, the quiet, lethal way she handles her knives. Her favorite color is orange, like the color of the sunrise. She thinks horror movies are cheesy. She misses dancing. And she is out there in the cold, trapped, vulnerable, alone. She doesn't even have her goddamn dog to defend her. 

He snaps. His fist collides with Dwight's jaw hard, and then again. Dwight's eyes roll back in his head as he falls, but Negan is already turning, bellowing commands. 

"I want all of you fuckers armed and ready to go, right fucking now. Get the trucks ready." He sees Simon lingering near and barks, "go get her fucking dog and let's go. Someone is going to fucking pay for this."

Men burst into action, scrambling to obey. And all the while, Negan silently simmers in the maelstrom of fear and hatred that swirl within him. 

He will rip the world apart to find her. He will destroy every single bastard who laid a hand on her. And if she is dead...

No. He cannot think about that. Because if she's dead, Negan will slaughter everyone in his grief. 

\---

The group gathered in the town hall are a shaking, quivering mess. From what Negan understands, they lost a majority of their men, with only the leader and another man surviving. Bryan is an obedient man, and that lessens some of Negan’s anger. Only a fraction.

“We don’t know who the men were,” Bryan is saying as he leads them into the woods towards the stream. “They would have killed all of us, I think, if another group hadn’t showed up after the Saviors left. They were…kind.”

Negan doesn’t give a flying fuck about kindness or groups in that moment; he only cares for the slender girl that they are searching for. It’s bitterly cold now that night has fallen, and she has been out here on her own for hours. If biters found her, or those goddamn men who caused this…his fingers clench around Lucille’s handle at the thought.

They begin to search the bank of the stream; it’s not long before Carter begins to bark, and Simon calls, “Boss! Over here.”

His heart thunders as he whirls and strides towards where Simon is crouched, a grim frown on his face. Negan’s eyes take note of the thick cable wrapped around the trunk of the nearest tree, his gaze following it along the bank to where it connects at last to a strange, brutal looking trap. The trap has been disengaged. Mazia is nowhere to be seen. Carter is sniffing at the ground, whining, pacing. 

“Think she got out of it on her own?” Simon asks. Negan doesn’t answer. Dwight had said neither he nor Mazia had known how to disengage the trap. His heart is thundering in his chest as he stoops, inspecting the earth. There are boot prints, marks from where the trap had been dragged, and disturbed dirt. No blood. No dragging prints that would suggest a biter. 

He straightens and aim his glare towards Bryan. “The group who swooped in and took care of those fuckers for you. Did you happen to catch a name?”

Bryan nods, somewhat reluctantly. “Yes. They offered a few of us a place at their community. Hilltop.”

Simon shifts, brows skyrocketing. And there is a burst of strange hope in Negan’s chest, because Hilltop answers to _him_ , and if they have Mazia, there is a chance that he will find her. That he will bring her home.

“Then to Hilltop we go, boys,” he calls to his men, before aiming a grin in Bryan’s direction. “Any of you fuckers going to join up with them? Or did you consider Dwight’s little offer to come live at Sanctuary?”

Bryan frowns. “Most of the women want to go to Hilltop. But Michael, the other man left, wants to go to Sanctuary. So does my wife, and Layla – she’s the woman with the child.” 

Negan nods, gesturing to one of his men. “He’ll take everyone who wants to go to Sanctuary back. For those who want to go to Hilltop, I fuckin’ guess they can come along with us, because I’m feeling generous.”

It is a lie. He isn’t feeling generous; he is feeling _murderous_. If Hilltop has Mazia, then those pathetic fucks had better hope and pray to all of their nonexistent gods that she was unharmed. Because if they had touched one single perfect hair on her head, there would be hell for them to pay. All of them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the double chapter. ;)

  
_Inside my head there lives a dream_  
_that I want to see in the sun_  
_Behind my eyes there lives a me_  
_that I've been hiding for much too long_  


I dream that I am curled in the middle of a massive bed, the blankets warm atop me, sheets like satin. Sunlight is just beginning to filter in through the windows, and I burrow deeper beneath the covers as if I could hide from it.

There comes a gravelly chuckle and the bed dips on one side, tipping my body towards the massive frame seated there. "Time to wake up, sweetheart," he says, brushing the covers and my hair aside to place slow kisses upon my neck. I roll towards him, eyes still closed, smiling. 

"Negan," I say, reaching for him. 

My eyes open. 

I do not immediately recognize where I am. The room from the dream is gone, and Negan is not here. I feel...disappointed. Disappointed, and scared. 

_Scared? Why?_

My thoughts are slow and confused, muddled by something. My mouth is dry, and when I try to sit up, pain lances through my ankle, my fingers, my toes. I gasp and fall back against the bed, remembering. 

The run. The town, Bryan, the gunshots. Running. The trap. The agony. 

Jesus. 

I have woken in a strange place, possibly crawling with enemies. I am injured. I am alone. 

And I am afraid. 

I can immediately feel that my knives and gun are gone. I glance around the room, searching for them, but they are not there. There's a bed, which I'm laid upon, a little table and two chairs, a sofa, a dresser. The place looks lived in, though I'm currently the only inhabitant. 

I almost whistle for Carter. Almost. And then I remember that I left him behind, where he is safe. Very much unlike me. 

The door opens then, and a man with a friendly expression and brown hair steps in, unfamiliar.

"Oh, good!" he exclaims, smile widening. "You're awake. I'm Doctor Carson."

Doctor Carson? I narrow my eyes at him. Is this man toying with me? Does he know where I'm from? For the doctor at the Sanctuary is called Carson, as well. I say nothing as he moves closer, looking me over. 

"I don't know if you remember what happened," he pauses, but when I give no indication of answering, continues. "Jesus said he and the men he was scouting with heard a commotion at a nearby town. After they helped out, they found you in the woods, caught in a trap. Nearly dead from the cold. Your damp clothes didn't help that."

Yes, I remember how. The pain. The certainty that I was going to die. Negan's face, swimming in my vision just before I went under. 

"The bad news is that your ankle is broken," he tells me. Though the world is not normal and I no longer dance, the admission fills me with instinctual dread. "The good news is that the conibear snapped it clean in half. Sort of. I won't get into the big medical terms, but the ankle is made up of several important parts. You can have a stable fracture...or an unstable fracture. Since yours is stable, it will heal without surgery. I went ahead and put a short leg cast on while you were out."

I'm startled to hear it; I hadn't even noticed before, too busy studying my surroundings, but now I look down to see how lumpy one foot looks beneath the blankets. 

"You'll have to wear that for six weeks. And take it easy."

"I'll take it easy," I say finally, voice raspy, "when I'm back home, with my family."

"Family, hm? You were alone when Jesus found you. Is your family around here?"

I hesitate in telling him it's the Sanctuary. Negan hasn't exactly made friends. "First, tell me where I am."

"Fair enough. You're at Hilltop."

Hilltop. I collapse back against the pillows in relief. Hilltop belongs to Negan. "I'm from the Sanctuary."

He visibly pales at the words, just as the door opens and the man from earlier steps in. Jesus. 

He smiles when he sees me. "Good. You're awake. How are you feeling?"

I shrug in response. "Fine. My fingers hurt. And toes."

"They were frost bitten," the man, Carson, says. "But they'll be fine. You're lucky. Jesus, the young lady here was just telling me that she's from the Sanctuary."

Jesus looks alarmed, but only nods in response. 

"My brother works there, you know," Carson tells me. Brother. I suppose that makes sense, though I wonder what made the two go their separate ways. 

"Gregory has been asking if you're awake yet. He wants to see you, immediately," Jesus says after a long moment of silence, frowning. "He's the leader. But he won't come to you. He'll make you go to him."

I do not miss the flickering anger in his gaze as he says this. Whatever kind of leader makes a newly injured woman hobble to him is no leader at all. Still, I nod, and Carson goes to find crutches. 

"How long have I been out?" I ask Jesus. 

"Only since last night. It's just past dawn now. I had you brought to my room to keep you away from prying eyes." No wonder he looks so tired - he hasn't slept. 

"So was it your group?" I asked him, voice hard. "That stormed the town and caused all of this?"

"It wasn't. We were out on a run when we heard the gunfire. It was a group of men who have been terrorizing small, vulnerable groups for a while now. I think we got most of them."

Good. They deserved to die, after preying on the weak as they did. Cowards. "Did you happen to see if my companions...did they survive? An older man with graying hair, a young guy with red curls...and a man with half of his face burned."

Jesus shakes his head, and I feel my stomach plummet. "No. I'm sorry, I didn't see them."

I hope that means that they got back to the Sanctuary okay. That they will come from me. But how will they know where to find me?

I'm chewing at my lip when Carson returns with the crutches. He moves as if to help me sit up, but I wave him away. I cannot tolerate the touch of a stranger. 

When I slide out from under the covers, I notice that I'm in strange clothes. An oversized maroon sweater hangs from my form, and a pair of sweatpants are cinched tightly around my waist. I glance up sharply, and Carson shrugs. 

"Your other clothes were soaked. I had to get you out of them, and Jesus offered his own clothes in return. Remember; I'm a doctor. I promise it was strictly clinical."

I know he's right, but the thought still makes me uncomfortable. I slide from the bed, wobbling, but manage to stabilize myself on the crutches. I'm dizzy, my fingers ache where they wrap around the handles, and my ankle throbs in protest. Still, I keep a straight face as I hobble from the little house out into daylight. Jesus and Carson follow me, though Carson breaks off after a time. Jesus leads me the rest of the way towards a sprawling house, helping me up the stairs and inside, much to my chagrin. The house is massive, elaborate, and more than a little gauzy. 

It is nothing like the Sanctuary. Nothing like home. 

Jesus moves to one of the doors off to the side, knocking. A voice calls from within, "come in!" 

I hobble closer as Jesus motions for me, peering inside when he opens the door. The office is just as overdone and elaborate as the rest of the house, and an old man with wispy white hair sits behind the mahogany desk. 

"Ah, you must be the girl Paul dragged in," the man says, waving towards the chair across from him. "What's your name, dear?"

"Mazia," I offer reluctantly, maneuvering into the room and lowering myself into the chair. I surmise that Jesus must be Paul. 

"Yes, yes," the man, Gregory says. "Very well. Paul, you may go."

Jesus hovers reluctantly for a moment before stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

"So, Mary," Gregory says. My eyebrows skyrocket when I realize he's speaking to me. 

"Mazia," I correct. 

"Yes, of course, near enough," he replies, waving me off. My irritation spikes immediately. "Paul was very determined to make sure that you were taken care of. Were you a member of that poor town that was attacked?"

"No," I tell him. "My group was there to make...negotiations."

"I see. You know, I told Paul that he shouldn't have gotten involved. A terrible waste of ammunition for such a small group, it was."

With each word, my brows creep higher and higher until I fear they might crawl right off of my face. He can't be serious.

But he is. "Regardless, he did, and now you are here. Tell me, where is your little group stationed?"

I can't help but laugh at the question, and Gregory frowns at me. "Oh, probably a few miles from here. East. I'd imagine not terribly far."

His frown deepens. I can see him mulling this over, tracing the paths and the miles in his mind. And then I see the very moment he realizes it. His eyes widen. "You're from the Sanctuary?"

"Oh, yes," I inform him. It's amusing to watch the insufferable man stutter. I suppose I should feel bad for it, but I don't. 

"Well...that's...ah. Ahem." He swivels in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Interesting."

"Quite. Hilltop does _business_ with the Sanctuary, do they not?"

"Yes, yes. We do."

"Excellent. Then perhaps you can assist me with getting home. Only a single man and a car need to be spared. They'll come back safely."

"Oh, I'm sure they would," he says. Something in his tone catches my attention, makes my blood run cold. I go very still as he looks as me, like a rabbit spotted by a wolf. "But I'm afraid I won't be able to help you back to the Sanctuary."

"You'd send a crippled girl on foot, alone?"

"Oh my dear, of course not. You'll remain under the protection of Hilltop until the Sanctuary and I can come up with a bit of a...bargain."

I stare at him. A clock on the wall ticks noisily, the only sound in the silence. He cannot truly mean what he is saying; he cannot be so stupid as to think Negan will bargain. I say as much. 

"The thing is, Martha, that it is worth a try. Hilltop is struggling under Negan's rule. _I_ am struggling. And I will do anything to remedy that. Anything."

The look in his pale eyes is cold, serious. I imagine my own are heated, hate-filled. This man will keep me as a prisoner. He will use me against Negan. I was a fool to be swayed by Carson's smile, Jesus' kindness. These men are nothing but vipers. 

"Negan will come for me," I stay, forcing my voice to be as hard and cold as steel. I do not know if this is true; I don't even know if Dwight made it back, or how they would know where I am. But still I say, "and he will kill you when you try to keep him from me."

"Yes, well," Gregory says, sighing. "For now, we'll move you and feign ignorance when he comes. There is much I have to plan for this to work. I'll send one of my men with you to keep you in a little shack we keep stocked not far from here. Not Paul - he'd likely pity you and let you go. Perhaps with Nathaniel...yes, he will do."

Gregory stands even as I remain frozen, striding to open the door. "Paul," he says, "fetch Nathaniel, will you?" Then the door is shutting and he moves to lean against the desk in front of me. Too close. I recoil in disgust. 

"Now, Megan -"

" _Mazia_ ", I snarl. He ignores me. 

"Don't look so very cross. All will be well, you'll see. As long as Negan cooperates, you'll be safe and sound again soon."

I sit in silence, glaring daggers at him, until there is a knock on the door. The man who enters is tall, muscled, with dark hair and darker eyes. I glare at him now as Gregory instructs him to take me away immediately, promising that he will send supplies soon. Nathaniel only grunts in reply, hovering over me as he gestures for me to stand. 

I long to crack my head against his nose, hear the bone crunch, but I know it would not be wise. For now, I will be compliant. But when we get to the shack, I will find a way to kill him. 

He's clearly impatient as I hobble from the house on my crutches, scowling when he has to help me down the stairs. He begins to lead me around the back ways of the compound, behind houses and close to the fence. He does not want others to see me. I snort at the realization. 

We are slinking between the stalks of the garden, just moving away from the dirt that makes my crutches wobbly and strained, when I suddenly hear it. Nathaniel does, too; he stops, cursing. 

From beyond the gate comes the rumble of a very large number of trucks.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh...triple chapter day? Surprise? :D My fingers are absolutely flying over the keyboard guys. I don't know where all of this muse came from, but I am definitely not complaining!

  
_And I wonder what it's like to run my fingers through your hair_  
_And I wonder what it's like to come home late and have you there_  
_And I've memorized every line on your fingertips_  
_And I've fantasized 'bout what it's like to say "goodnight" to your kiss_  


My heart leaps into my throat as men scramble to open the gates and a barrage of familiar trucks come rumbling in.

Nathaniel is still cursing beside me; there’s a long stretch of land between the gardens and the gate. We’ll be seen before we can reach it. Making a quick decision, it seems, Nathaniel turns to me and presses my shoulders hard so that I sink to the ground within the stalks of the garden. He kneels beside me, ripping a large chunk of fabric off of the sleeve of his shirt.

I realize what he’s going to do as he reaches for me, and I open my mouth to scream; his slap is swift and surprising when it comes, the feel of revolting flesh against mine surprising me enough to allow him to ball the fabric up and force it into my mouth. He’s _gagged_ me. 

“If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” he hisses, lifting his shirt a fraction to reveal a gun. The sound of it firing will only leave him exposed and vulnerable, but it’s not as if I have a choice. My stomach sinks as I peer through the stalks to see Saviors swarming from the trucks. Simon is familiar as he hops out, and then my heart gives a violent tug as Negan steps forward from the group of men, my beloved Carter prowling at his heels. He looks so imposing, so intimidating, and though he does not know I am held captive here in the dirt, I still hope so fiercely that it hurts.

_Look at me._

But he doesn’t. He has eyes only for Gregory, who has come hurrying from the sprawling house, Jesus and several others on his heels. Others from Hilltop keep their distance, though they all watch fearfully.

“Negan!” Gregory says, hastening to kneel respectfully. Negan stares at him for a long moment before at last nodding for him to rise. “I hadn’t expected you. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Not so sure about fucking pleasure,” I hear Negan growl. The voices are faint, but they carry to me across the brief distance. “See, I’m looking for a woman – a member of the Sanctuary who I _very much_ intend to bring home with me today.”

“A woman?” Gregory asks, feigning innocence. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on now, Gregory!” Negan exclaims, swinging Lucille up to rest on his shoulder menacingly. “A little birdie told me some guys from Hilltop nabbed her while she was hurt. And if I find her in one piece, I will be _incredibly_ fucking grateful.”

I can only imagine the panic Gregory must be feeling; surely he was not expecting Negan to come for me so soon. “I’m sorry, but I don’t – “

Negan cuts him off, stepping closer to Gregory. Dangerously close. “She’s about this tall,” he begins cheerily, holding a hand up to his chest. “Long black hair. Tan skin. Big amber eyes. And she is fucking gorgeous, if I do say so myself. You wouldn’t be able to miss her.”

I glance towards Jesus then, narrowing my eyes as I take note of the look on his face. He is staring at Gregory, mouth down-turned, a look of incredulous disbelief and anger on his face. And then, as if feeling my eyes on him, his gaze flicks to where I am forcibly kneeling in the dirt of the garden. His eyes narrow a fraction, and then flit back to Gregory, angrier than before.

“Well she certainly sounds beautiful, but I’m afraid I haven’t seen her,” comes Gregory’s answer. 

Negan laughs, but it is not a sound of mirth. It is a promise of cruelty, of death, and he swings Lucille down to point her at Gregory’s face. “See, I don’t fuckin’ believe you. Because it just doesn’t make any goddamn sense to me why a group with no ties to either of us would lie about who took her.”

If only he would turn – if only _any_ of the Saviors would turn. I’m just outside of their peripheral view; they would only have to pivot, to shift a fraction, and they would see me. If Jesus had spotted me so easily, they would, too. But they do not.

I’m watching Jesus still, though I’m listening to Gregory’s blubbering excuses. He’s edging slowly, so slowly, to the side. Towards where I hide. Anger rises in me at the realization that he is going to try to stand in front of where I kneel, to conceal me from view.

But no. That’s not it. Because he’s staring _hard_ at Carter, who is sitting beside Negan. And Carter is following Jesus’ every move, body tense, waiting for the man to make a move. 

He is trying to draw Carter’s gaze towards me.

If I could sob in relief, I would. The makeshift gag is uncomfortable, reeking of sweat, and I hate the man kneeling beside me watching the commotion so fiercely in that moment. But I do not move. I do not give him any indication that I am watching Carter’s gaze shift closer and closer, fraction by fraction. I do not understand why Jesus is trying to help me, trying to undermine his leader. Perhaps I was wrong earlier, in thinking that he was a viper. Perhaps he will be the reason I live. 

“I-I really don’t know you mean,” Gregory is saying, visibly trembling with Lucille so close to his face. “I swear it. I’ll keep an eye out for her, but I haven’t seen her.”

Jesus is just off to the side of the gathered Hilltop group now, just a bit to the side of where I am kneeling. Carter is still watching him, and so at that moment, I take a chance. I lurch as if I’ve lost my balance, knocking into one of the withered stocks, which shifts. Nathaniel cuffs me hard across the back of the head, and I see stars as he swears to kill me if I am not still.

Perhaps it’s his own foolish movement that has damned him. Perhaps not. Either way, the tiny commotion has drawn Carter’s gaze. He stands suddenly, but does not charge; he won’t without command. Still, my intelligent, wonderful dog must sense that something is wrong as his bright eyes settle on me. And he begins to growl.

It’s low, intimidating, drawing everyone’s gaze. Beside me, Nathaniel goes still. And then Carter begins to bark, loudly, viciously, still staring right at me.

Negan turns. They all do. But I feel it when _his_ gaze settles on me, warm toffee, alarm shining in them. Immediately, the Saviors have guns drawn and pointed at Nathaniel as several of them rush forward, Simon in the lead. 

“Don’t you fucking move,” Simon snarls to Nathaniel as he approaches. “Don’t you dare.”

Nathaniel holds his hands up in defeat, and several of the men drag him roughly from the stalks. Tears streak down my cheeks, tears of relief as Simon holds a hand out to me. 

“Come on, Mazia,” he says, his voice grave but surprisingly gentle. I grasp his palm, ignoring the way it makes my stomach lurch, because in this moment, it doesn’t matter. I’m safe.

Simon pulls me to my feet, pausing as he takes in my cast. His fingers rise to pull the gag from my mouth, and I gasp a breath of air. Another Savior kneels to grab my crutches, but I allow Simon to scoop me up and carry me towards Negan. 

Negan’s eyes rove across me, settling on my cast, his gaze darkening as he strides forward to meet Simon. He takes me into his own arms, cradling me to his chest, his heart thudding loudly in my ear. “Mazia,” he breathes; I hear the relief, the fear, the anger, all entwined in one. I bury my face in his chest, so tired, so grateful that the hands of fate reached out to me today. “You scared the fucking shit out of me, sweetheart.”

“I know,” I choke out quietly, so that he is the only one who hears. My voice trembles and breaks, and he clutches me closer. “He was going to use me for collateral.”

He goes stiff before gently setting me down, grabbing the crutches from the Savior and offering them to me. I hover on them gratefully, my fingers lowering to tangle in Carter’s fur as he licks at my aching fingers happily. 

And then Negan turns to Gregory. The space around them has gone deathly quiet, and Gregory is pale. 

“So,” Negan begins, sighing. “Tell me, Gregory. Is this woman here about this high?”

Gregory begins to splutter, but Negan swings Lucille up towards his face again, snarling.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“Y-yes,” Gregory stammers.

“Does she have black hair? Tan skin?”

“Yes.”

“Amber eyes?”

Gregory’s head is bent, resigned. “Yes.”

“And she’s fucking pretty as a picture, isn’t she?”

Again, Gregory confirms. Negan nods.

“Good. So that really makes me fucking wonder why you swore _up and down_ that you had not seen her. It really makes me fucking wonder why she was kneeling over there in the grass, fucking _gagged_ , with one of your men. But see, she answered all of those questions for me a second ago. She told me you were going to use her for collateral. That true, Gregory?”

“You have to understand,” Gregory pleads. “I only wanted to help Hilltop. We’re struggling to meet your terms, we’re trying but we’re falling behind. And…and I only thought to – “

“To threaten me with one of my own?” Negan asks. Gregory is quiet. Everyone is. Negan takes a step back and sighs. “Look. I get it. I do. You thought you’d come up with some brilliant fucking plan.”

A glimmer of hope shines in Gregory’s eyes. Fool.

“But you tried to hide something that is very fucking dear to me. You lied to my fucking face, and you intended to _threaten_ me. And that shit simply does not fly.”

Gregory opens his mouth to object, but he doesn’t get the chance. Negan swings Lucille suddenly, the bat colliding with Gregory’s skull with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays, teeth fly, and Gregory stumbles to the ground, half-dead and stunned. Somehow he manages to look up at Negan, skull half caved in, stunned. And Negan smiles. 

“You fucked up, Gregory.”

And then Lucille comes down again. And again, and again. Negan keeps hitting until Gregory’s skull is nothing but a mush of blood and bone, until the man is long dead, until Negan is panting and the fury at last dies from his eyes. And I watch Gregory die without an ounce of remorse.

Negan straightens, slicking back his hair and looking around at the members of Hilltop who have looked on in horror. My eyes find Jesus, and I see that he is watching me. ‘Thank you’, I mouth, meaning it with all of my heart. His lips twitch slightly, and he nods.

“Let that be a fucking lesson,” Negan calls to all of them. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you have lead now. Our agreement stands, and if any of you sorry fucks _ever_ pull some stupid bullshit like this again, you will pay.”

He turns away then, towards me. His gaze softens and he reaches for me, scooping me up again, passing my crutches to Simon. He moves towards the nearest truck, gently placing me in the backseat before sliding in. Simon slips into the front to drive, another man in the passenger seat. Carter hops in to settle on my other side, happy as he can be to see me again.

I lean against Negan as he wraps his arms around me, breathing in his scent, reveling in the feel of his leather jacket beneath my cheek. “You found me.”

“I’ll always find you, Mazia,” he promises. And in that moment, I believe him. My heart feels as if it is swelling, and my eyes flutter closed. “Fucking always.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's official: I have the best readers ever. You guys are seriously amazing, and all of the support I received yesterday and today has seriously made me smile like an idiot. When I first started this fic, I wasn't sure if anyone would even like it. To see such overwhelming involvement with the characters along with the wonderful comments makes this all so worth it. 
> 
> All I could think about while working and running errands all day was getting home to write ;) So without further blathering from the author (aside from to tell you that next chapter will be Negan POV!), here it is!

  
_I'll wait, I'll wait_  
_I love you like you've never felt the pain,_  
_I promise you don't have to be afraid,_  
_The love is here and here to stay_  
_So lay your head on me_  


I’m not sure when, exactly, I fell asleep. It couldn’t have been long after leaving Hilltop. But the next thing I know, my eyes are flitting open as Negan gently lifts me from the car, cradling me close to his chest.

I’ve never been so happy to see the Sanctuary before in my life. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief that makes Negan glance down, his eyebrows furrowing. I know that he is still worried for me, but in this moment, nothing else matters besides the fact that I am home.

“Get Carson, and bring those upstairs to my office,” Negan tells the man holding my crutches, who nods. And then we’re moving, Negan still cradling me the entire way through the compound, people kneeling in his wake. I cling to him unabashedly as we move up the flights of stairs to his office, Carter settling immediately by the fireplace, as always. 

I expect Negan to put me down on the plush sofa in the corner, but instead he carries me to a side door, opening it to reveal his bedroom. The first thing I notice is his bed – it’s absolutely massive, with crimson sheets and a canopy that is pushed aside, ready to be drawn. He sits me down gently on the mattress, which I sink into. I’m reminded of my dream that morning when I awoke at Hilltop, and my cheeks flush. 

Negan is busy shuffling around the room, lighting the little fireplace in the corner that Carter promptly pads into the room to lay before, seemingly happy to be near to both warmth _and_ me. Negan chuckles as he pours a glass of water and turns to offer it to me. My fingers brush his as I take it, drinking it gratefully.

A knock sounds from the office, and Negan disappears briefly before returning with Doctor Carson in tow, who is holding my crutches. As he props them against the wall, I take a moment to study him. I can see the resemblance to the doctor at Hilltop now; I want to ask him about it, but I do not know him well enough to dare.

“Hello, Mazia,” Carson says as he approaches me. I offer a slight smile in response, and he begins to look me over, taking note of my cast.

“I saw your brother at Hilltop,” I inform him, though his expression does not change. “He said it’s a stable fracture. Told me to keep the cast on for six weeks.”

“Very good. Was there anything else?” 

“My fingers and toes were frostbitten, but he said they’d be fine.” I offer my hands to Carson, trying not to cringe as he takes them in his own, bending the fingers slowly and carefully. There’s a twinge of pain, but it’s not terrible, the same with my toes. 

He nods, seemingly satisfied. “I’ve brought you some painkillers. Nothing major, but they’ll help with the aches for a few days. I’ll keep checking in with you, and when that cast is ready to come off, I’ll remove it.”

I nod gratefully, and there is silence until Carson shuffles out of the room. And then Negan is approaching, making my heart leap pitifully as he sits down beside me, clear concern in his eyes. He offers me what looks like ibuprofen, and I take it gratefully, chasing it with a sip of water.

“Mazia,” Negan says, and I look up, meeting his gaze. “Did anyone hurt you? Touch you?”

I shake my head, seeing the relief flash in his eyes. “No. The doctor was very kind, and…and so was Jesus. He’s the reason Carter saw me in the garden.”

“I knew it was a good idea to bring the mutt along,” Negan says with a smile that is almost playful. But it fades as he stands up, stripping out of his blood-spattered jacket. 

“They took my weapons,” I say mournfully. More than anything, I will miss my knives. But apparently Negan has already thought of that.

“One of the men grabbed them. I figured you’d want the damn things back.”

My smile is genuine as I lay back against the pillows. Negan’s movements are tender, gentle, as he lifts the sheet and tucks it around me before moving to sit in a chair across the room. He begins to unwind the gore-coated barbed wire from Lucille, snagging a cloth from the table beside him. I can see that something is troubling him, but I don’t ask. He will tell me, when he’s ready. And he does.

“I was married, before,” he informs me, eyes downcast as he cleans the bat draped over his lap. “To a woman named Lucille.”

My gaze flicks to the weapon he holds, and then back to his face. There is something pained in his voice, something raw, and it softens everything within me.

“I was a shitbag. Had an ongoing affair. She knew about it, but she didn’t demand I end it or anything. Because she had cancer. I ended it anyways, when I found out. I fucked up so much by treating her the way I did, and I’ll always fucking hate myself for never realizing it until she was dying. But I stayed by her through it all. I became the faithful husband I always _should_ have been, and I watched her wither away. When she died, it broke me. Changed me.”

He pauses, his tormented stare raising to meet mine. My heart aches for him, and I move as if to slide off of the bed, cast be damned, but he stands up and strides towards me before I can. He is so near when he perches on the edge of the bed, near enough for me to reach out and place my palm between his shoulder blades. He shudders, dropping his head into his hands.

“I swore I wouldn’t love anyone again. I couldn’t stand to go through it. I have wives, of course, but I’ve never fucking loved them.” Here he pauses for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is low. “And then Dwight came back from that run without you. He told me he left you, hurt, fucking dying, and I…I didn’t know what to do, Mazia. The thought of finding you dead terrified me. It would have broken me, completely. Because losing you would have been the same thing I experienced years ago all over again. I was so fucking afraid.”

He turns to me, gently taking my face in his hands. What he has just admitted floors me, because though he did not say it, he made it clear enough. Negan has somehow, inexplicably, fallen in love with me. And he thought that he had lost me.

“I was ready to slaughter everyone who stood between us. And then I saw you crouched there in the garden, gagged, hurt. But the look in your eyes when I finally saw you…” 

“Negan.” His word is like a prayer on my lips. I can feel nothing but the beating surge of my heart, the warmth and happiness and…and _love_ coursing through my veins. I don’t know when I fell completely for this man, but the prospect of never seeing him again as I lay broken and shivering on the banks of that stream had forced me to come face to face with the realization. I think of all the nights we spent talking, sharing tidbits of information, laughing and joking. I think of the protective urge to shadow him, to keep him safe. And I think of the look in his eyes when he saw me at Hilltop, when he realized I was not lost.

So I don’t hesitate to pull his face down towards mine, to brush my lips against his. Kissing him is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and when his arms wind gently around me, I am home. 

I don’t think about his wives, or what this means for us. I don’t think of anything but his lips parting mine, our tongues entwining, his hands lifting to my hair. Later, I will reflect on those things. But now, there is only Negan.

He breaks away reluctantly, resting his forehead against mine. I see fear in his eyes. I see hope, tentative but growing. And when he speaks, his voice is more sincere than I’ve ever heard it. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again, Mazia.”

“Well,” I counter breathily, voice low, “I didn’t exactly _mean_ to get caught in an animal trap.”

He grins, but then his face becomes stony, and he says, “I’m going to punish Dwight for leaving you there.”

“No,” I insist, gently but firmly. “He didn’t want to. He protested the entire time. But I made him, because I knew if he could only get to you, you’d make everything right again.”

He frowns but does not argue. And so I don’t argue, either, when he says, “you’ll stay here with me until you’re healed. No way in hell you’ll be able to hobble up and down the stairs.”

“I can hop,” I sniff indignantly, but then smile. “But staying here with you doesn’t sound like a bad deal. Will you send for Kiyah later? So I can tell her I’m alright?”

“Of course, doll. Anything else you need from your rooms?”

“The bag of dog food for Carter. My toothbrush. Clothes.” Here I pause, frowning. “I won’t be able to patrol like this. Won’t be able to earn points.”

Negan looks at me incredulously. “You broke your fucking ankle on a run I sent you on, Mazia. I’ll take care of everything you need until you’re better.”

I chew at my lip, but again, I do not argue. He is still seated beside me, holding me, and a comfortable silence settles over us. It feels so natural to be folded in his arms like this, though I know later I will have to consider the facts. Such as that he has two other women whose beds he shares, and that I am still not sure if I can give myself to him in that way because of that. I am torn, because when I recall how wonderfully right it feels to kiss him, I can only imagine what making love to him will be like. But my dignity continues to rear its stubborn head, and I sigh softly.

He shifts until we’re both laying, me with my head on his chest, he with his arms wrapped loosely around me. I’m warm and comfortable and _safe_ , a sharp contrast to how I was the night before, trapped and vulnerable. When one of his hands lifts to play with the long strands of my hair, I let my eyes close. 

“Get some rest,” he rumbles, and I only hum in response. My body is exhausted after the ordeal, and the hour or so of sleep I snagged on the way back to the Sanctuary wasn't enough. But just before I drift off I ask, “Will you stay? Until I wake up?”

I feel him nod, his chin gently brushing against my head. “I’ll stay, sweetheart.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And my muse is still on a roll! I'll likely post again later tonight as well; I have a birthday party to go to, but I'll write my heart out afterwards!

  
_When my time comes around_  
_Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_  
_No grave can hold my body down_  
_I'll crawl home to her_  


Negan isn’t sure what the fuck he’s doing.

It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks since Mazia has been living in his room, sleeping in his bed. Two weeks of him pulling her close at night, burying his face in her hair, and demonstrating extraordinary fucking restraint by not pushing further than kisses and caresses. Because even though things have changed between them, she’s made it incredibly clear that she won’t go any further as long as he has his wives.

And fuck, can he blame her? The thought of sharing _her_ with other men makes his blood boil. Which has made him realize that's he a goddamn hypocrite. So here he stands before the door leading to the common room of his wives, wavering. 

Because what he’s about to do is fucking crazy. It’s entirely outside the realm of possibility for what he would normally do. But Mazia…she’s made him feel things that he thought he would never feel again. And it’s not like he’s fucked his wives lately, anyways; he hasn’t touched them since a little over two weeks ago. Since before Mazia was left trapped and he thought he would lose her.

So he takes a deep breath and opens the door to the elaborately furnished room. Amber is curled up in one of the plush chairs flipping through a magazine, and Sherry is poking around in the refrigerator. They both look up as he enters, and he looks at Amber, jerking his head towards the door. She’s quick to slip from the room, the door closing softly behind her. 

“Sit down, Sherry,” he says, because she'll be the easiest to tell, and she does. He sits in a chair across from her, sighing as he studies her. She’s pretty enough, he supposes, but the only reason she’s even fucking here is because of that fucker Dwight. She has never _truly_ wanted to be one of his wives. That makes it easier.

“Look. I don’t really know how to fucking say this, but I’m gonna try,” he says, watching her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I know you’re only here to protect your life, and Dwight’s. I know that I’m the reason for that. But now I’m gonna let you go back to living a normal life at the Sanctuary.”

“I don’t understand,” Sherry says, her voice guarded. She probably thinks he’s tricking her, or trying to get her hopes up.

“Go back to Dwight, if you want to. Or don’t, I don’t fucking care. I swear I won’t punish him or you for it.”

Sherry sits back slowly, studying him in a way that makes him bristle. But he doesn’t say anything. 

“Is this about Mazia?” she asks slowly. Of course she’s seen Mazia in the recent days, when Negan has helped her to and from the room to take Carter outside, or get some fresh air.

He wants to deny it. There’s still a hard, cold part of him that can hardly believe it himself. But he nods and says, “Yeah, it fucking is.”

And Sherry smiles. “I figured as much. Amber won’t be terribly thrilled, but she’ll get over it. Especially since it’s for Mazia. We still haven’t forgotten what she did for us that night.” 

Negan can hardly believe that Sherry’s actually _okay_ with it. Yeah, she never wanted to be his, but living a pampered life of one of his wives is certainly easier than having to work for points. But there is no judgement on her face as she stands up, stopping as she passes him to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Negan. Don’t worry about Amber. I’ll break it to her.”

It makes him feel like a coward not to tell Amber himself, but fuck, she’ll probably cry, and he really doesn’t want to deal with that. So he nods, not moving until Sherry is gone.

He unfolds slowly, his boots thudding against the floor as he strides down the hall towards his own rooms. Mazia is nowhere in sight when he enters, but he hears the sound of the shower in the bedroom, and when he walks in, Carter is curled protectively in front of the closed bathroom door. He lifts his head and his tail gives a brief, thumping wag when he spots Negan, who pats the dog on the head before lowering himself into a chair to wait.

It doesn’t take her long to hobble from the bathroom, hair wet, a look of frustration upon her face. She’s dressed in a clean sweater and black leggings, with a plastic bag wrapped snuggly over her cast. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, grinning as she startles and turns towards him. 

“This cast is a pain in the ass,” she huffs, propping her crutches against the bed as she flops down onto it, beginning to untie the bag. “I’ll be so happy when it’s off.”

“Four more weeks. If you don’t go stir-crazy first.” 

He watches as she rolls her eyes and begins to comb through her hair, long and dark and as smooth as silk. He’s captivated by her, which makes him feel like a teenage fucking boy again. But how could he not be? 

He clears his throat and her gaze flicks up to meet his, seeing something in his expression.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, immediately concerned. He hesitates in answering, feeling…fuck, he feels _shy_. It’s such a strange, startling revelation that it shocks him. But he stands up and moves to sit beside her, holding his hand out to take the comb from her. She watches him with those huge amber eyes of hers, which close when he begins to run the comb through her hair. She makes a little hum of contentment, and fuck, if she’s not the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, then Negan doesn’t know what is.

“I have something to tell you, doll,” he says, voice low. 

“Good news, I hope.”

“It better fucking be,” he says, chuckling. “I talked to Sherry.”

He sees her tense at the mention of his wife – ex-wife now – so he hurries on. “And I told her that she’s free to go back to living normally here. Her and Amber both.”

With a movement so quick that it makes him curse, she turns towards him, eyes widening in comprehension. “You…you got rid of your wives?”

He nods, his eyes hungrily searching the expression on her face. Guilt and confusion and…relief.

“For me?” He nods again. “Negan. You didn’t have to. I wasn’t trying to force your hand in getting rid of them. If they make you happy – “

“ _You_ make me happy,” he interrupts, lifting a hand to run his fingers down her cheek. Her skin is smooth and warm, and he sighs as he pulls her towards him, cradling her against his chest. “I didn’t do this just to fuck you, either – though that’s gonna be one sweet ass perk. I did it because I needed to show you that you’re enough for me. I’d be a fucking idiot to mess this up. And I still might. But I’m going to try, Mazia.”

She burrows into him, burying her face in his neck, the scent of soap and _her_ washing over him. He fucked up bad with Lucille in the past; it's something that has haunted him ever since. He wants to do right this time. 

When she pulls away to lift her face and press her lips against his, Negan knows that he has made the right decision. Let the compound think he’s gone soft for her – fuck, he has. He’ll continue to be the ruthless leader he’s always been, the fearsome, hard man who commands the Saviors.

But now, Negan will do it with Mazia at his side.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up coming down with a stomach bug and was basically out of it for a day and a half; I'm sorry I didn't get this up yesterday for you guys! But I'm feeling much better now thankfully. :)
> 
> NOTE: for those of you reading these chapters late, please note that the smut I gloss over in this chapter is NOT the official smut! You'll see that in chapter 18. Thank you!

  
_I would bleed my heart out_  
_To find out what’s inside_  
_Tell me with your heart, now_  
_What’s inside your mind?_  


Three weeks until my cast comes off.

One week since Negan set aside his wives for me.

Six days since he announced to the compound that I was his. _Only_ me. 

Three days since he left to check up on outposts and the Kingdom with his Saviors.

Time has flown so very swiftly, escaping from me easily. Though I know that the world feels small and slow to me as I spend my days going stir-crazy inside, I also know that beyond the gates of the Sanctuary, life goes on. 

With Negan gone, I’ve been staying in my old rooms with Kiyah, who solemnly vowed to a very persistent Negan that she would keep a close eye on me. The entire time he loomed in the doorway coaxing promises out of her, I’d sat making childish faces at him behind her back, enjoying the way he struggled not to let his lips twitch into a smile.

I begin to suspect that he’s asked others to watch over me as well, for even when I hobble outside on my crutches to read while Carter sniffs around the gardens, I can feel the eyes of others watching me.

It’s…strange. I know Negan is worried, but at the same time, I fear that he will not allow me to continue with my previous duties once my cast is off. But I am determined to make him realize that I am more useful scouting, or guarding, or on runs. For now, though, I will not mention it; it’s a battle pointless to wage until the damn clunky cast is off, anyways.

Once a week, I see Carson. The pain in my ankle is gone, but he insists I’ll need physical therapy when the cast comes off. More than anything, I hate feeling weak; hate knowing that for some time I will not be able to protect Negan, even if he does not _need_ my protection. But something about him has sparked a flame in me, one that I do not think will ever extinguish.

Before he left for the run, I spent every night curled in his arms. We still have not slept together in _that_ way, despite how badly my body yearns for it. I’m determined that our first time not be marred by a clunky cast, much to his chagrin. But there are still nights spent kissing, something that Negan confessed he never allowed his other wives to do, which floored me. And there are nights spent with his face buried between my thighs, a thought that makes my cheeks flame. The man is entirely _too_ talented with his tongue; even now I can perfectly recall his raspy chuckles as I came undone for him over and over, the feel of his stubble against my skin driving me insane. And naturally, I’d made sure _he_ was always satisfied, too. I’d had boyfriends before the world went to shit, but I’d never been particularly fond of getting on my knees for them. But something about seeing Negan, the ruthless, powerful, masculine leader of the Saviors, groaning and bucking his hips from the touch of my tongue has warmed me to the experience.

“Penny for your thoughts? Though, judging by the way you’re grinning, I bet I could figure it out myself.”

I glance up, startled, to see Sherry striding towards me. I’m seated at one of the benches outside with Carter at my feet, a book forgotten in my lap. It’s not unusual for Sherry to make conversation with me lately; it was strange, at first. Strange to see that she really wasn’t angry with me. Strange to see her so happy, a sharp contrast to the constant worried expression on her features when she’d been a wife.

“Just fantasizing about the day I get this stupid cast off,” I lie. She smiles in a way that suggests she knows exactly what I _was_ fantasizing about, sitting beside me on the bench. Carter immediately begins to sniff at her pockets, and she laughs.

“Sorry, buddy. No treats today,” she tells him with a pat to the head before turning her gaze on me. “How’re you doing?”

“Still going a little crazy,” I confess, “but I’m finding ways to bide time. What about you?”

Sherry shrugs but does not immediately answer; I glance up curiously, only to see that she is staring towards the gates, where Dwight is speaking with another man. I’ve been careful not to pry into their business, but it’s not the first time I’ve seen one of the two exchanging meaningful glances. 

Sherry glances back towards me to see I’ve noticed, smiling sheepishly. “We’ve been talking a little lately,” she explains. “Things are…different. And I don’t know if they can ever go back to the way they were, after Negan. But I have hope.”

“Hope is good,” I tell her, mimicking something my mother used to say. “Sometimes it’s all we have.”

There is a brief but comfortable silence, until it’s suddenly broken by a noisy thump as Caden throws himself down on the other side of the bench, all gangly legs and arms. He flashes a grin in our direction, which I return. He was strange after discovering what had occurred between Negan and I – distant, closed off. But in the last few days, he’s come around. I’m grateful for it; friends are scarce in the apocalypse. 

“I saw you two lovely ladies over here and just couldn’t resist offering some prime company,” he exclaims, to which I snort. 

“By ‘prime company’, do you mean yourself?”

“Well, who else would I mean?”

Sherry is smiling as she watches us, though her gaze continuously darts back to where Dwight now stands guard alone.

“Why don’t you go talk to him,” I ask her, “instead of making moon eyes?”

She elbows me gently, mock-scowling, but then stands and brushes her hands along her jeans. “Guess I should, huh? Talk later, Mazia?”

“Of course.” Caden and I watch in silence as she strides across the yard towards where Dwight stands. And then Caden whistles, the sound long and low.

“Lucky guy, having a girl like that chasing him,” he says. I roll my eyes and swat at him, but offer nothing more; Sherry’s story is not mine to tell.

“So, little klutz,” he says to me, “how are you liking being crippled?”

“You’re awful. Stepping in an animal trap doesn’t make me klutzy, I’ll have you know. And how do you think I like it? It’s dreadful.”

“Good thing you have me to keep you company. Until your man gets back, anyways.”

His voice has lost a fraction of its cheer. I study him across the table, remembering what Negan had said weeks ago. _He’d lick the dirt from your boots._

“I’m surprised you’re outside, honestly,” he continues. “I mean, don’t Negan’s wives normally stay cooped up in his apartments?”

“Caden,” I warn, and something almost guilty flashes in his gaze. “I’m his…” I trail off, unsure. Girlfriend? That sounds so strange now, in this new world. Not a wife. Lover? I wrinkle my nose at the word. “Look, the point is, just because we’re together doesn’t mean the rest of my life is just going to stop. As soon as this damn cast is off and I’m walking again, I’ll be back on patrols.”

He raises his brows at me, disbelieving. “Have you talked to him about that?”

I narrow my eyes at him in response, but am saved from answering as a call goes up from one of the gates. The rumble of trucks in the distance makes my heart leap, even as Caden murmurs under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”

The gates slide open just in time to admit the Saviors, the cars and trucks rumbling noisily as they come to a grinding halt. I watch with baited breaths as the doors open, men pouring out, until Negan comes into view. He looks…frustrated, I note immediately, brows furrowing. Handsome and intimidating, and entirely pissed off. He barks a few commands to his men as he begins to stride towards the Sanctuary, but then he spots me where I sit on the bench – and Caden. 

I see his eyes narrow, and something about the look on his face makes me shiver. Not in fear, for I would never fear the man who treats me with such unusual tenderness when no one else is around. Caden has sunk from the bench into a bow, and I slowly move to do the same, inwardly cursing my cast. Though the Sanctuary knows I am Negan’s, we agreed privately that I should still appear subservient to him in public. He has a fearsome reputation to uphold. 

A gloved hand is slipping around my shoulders suddenly, and Negan lifts me back to the bench, smoothing my hair out of my face. It’s a tiny motion of affection, one that does not last long enough for my liking, but I see in his eyes all of the things he wants to say. And then they go hard and cool as they move to Caden, who is sheepishly shifting his weight from leg to leg.

“Hope you’ve been taking good care of my girl,” Negan says with a wide grin that seems very unfriendly. Like a dog showing its teeth moments before it snaps. “I do _very much_ enjoy having her in one fucking piece.”

“To be fair, Kiyah has been the one breathing down my neck the entire time,” I point out in an attempt to save Caden. Negan’s glances towards me briefly and then back, undeterred.

“Get fucking lost, kid,” he snaps at last, and Caden stiffly but quickly moves to obey. And then those smoldering toffee eyes are shifting to me, making my stomach tighten.

Still, I say, “well that was very kind of you.”

He offers no response other than to abruptly scoop me into his arms. I yelp, scrambling to cradle my huge, awkward crutches in my arms at the last moment as he turns and strides towards the compound, Carter happily loping along behind us, seemingly pleased to see Negan again as well.

“Traitor,” I playfully snip at Carter over Negan’s broad shoulder; I’m rewarded with a rumble of laughter from Negan.

He sits me down at last when we’re in his office, propping me gently in one of his chairs. I tuck my uninjured leg beneath me, watching as he sighs and begins to move around the room, stripping off his jacket and pouring a glass of rum. 

“Did something happen on the run?” I ask him, distinctly aware of the tightness in his shoulders, the tired marks under his eyes. 

“Just rumors of some small groups harassing the compounds. The Kingdom swears up and down it’s not them, and I don’t know who the fuck else it would be. Surely Rick’s not that goddamn stupid. Maybe he is. I’ll get to the bottom of it one way or another.”

He sighs as he comes to sit beside me, knee jostling mine. Before he can protest, I’m gently pressing at his shoulders to turn him partially away from me, beginning to work at the tense spots and the taut muscles. He sighs again, letting his head hang forward as I work.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a fucking angel?” he asks, and I laugh.

“I don’t know about ‘angel’, but ‘goddess’ works, too.”

“Shit, Maz, I think you’re spending too much time around me now.”

“Impossible,” I proclaim, sitting back when I’ve finished. But then he turns to pull me onto his lap, his grin devious, lighter than I’ve seen it since he got back. It’s impossible for me not to melt into him, to cradle my face in the crook of his neck and kiss the skin there, and he growls. 

“Be careful, sweetheart. I’m tired, but I think I’ve still got it in me to show you a thing or two if you wanna be bad.”

It’s tempting – so very tempting. But I can see the exhaustion on his features, so I simply place another quick kiss to his lips and curl closer into him. “Later. I missed you.”

“I know,” he says, and though he doesn’t return the words, he trails his fingers affectionately through my long hair. 

It’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you guys have been such amazingly patient and wonderful readers, I swear you'll be rewarded with some smut very soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two for the day, to make up for yesterday <3

  
_I got this need for you_  
_forming in my beating heart_  
_I knew the meaning right away,_  
_we only yesterday_  
_were worlds apart_  


The sun has only just begun to filter through the cracks in the curtains as I sit cross-legged in Negan’s sprawling bed, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful as he slumbers, his face relaxed, hair mused. It’s an added benefit that he enjoys sleeping shirtless, too; I let my gaze trace his sizable arms, his broad, muscled chest, eyes sliding downwards towards his stomach.

His breathing is deep and even, and for a moment, I consider slipping out of bed and letting him sleep. But I can’t get down the stairs by myself, and I’m too impatient to wait. I let my fingers creep gently up his stomach, gliding across his chest, and then playfully but gently tugging at his short beard. His brows furrow in his sleep and he rolls away from me, but groans in frustration when I begin lightly tickling between his shoulders.

He flops back onto his back, throwing an arm over his eye as he sleepily growls, “leave me the fuck alone.”

It’s hard to contain my giggles as I maneuver to kneel between his legs, placing a kiss on his chest. Slowly, I work my way down his stomach, placing little kisses across his abs, and then softer, lingering ones at the bit of hipbones revealed by his low slung sweatpants. When I get no response, I glance up – only to see him awake, bleary eyed, but staring down at me with a grin.

“Well _good_ -fucking-morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. It’s almost as tantalizing as the embers of desire smoldering in his gaze. 

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want me to ‘leave you the fuck alone’ now?” I ask, quirking a brow as my lips pause just above the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s already hard, though I’ve learned that’s not really a surprise when it comes to Negan.

His only response is a growl of warning that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. It’s crazy to think of how easily one man is able to affect me; a single noise on his part has my stomach fluttering as I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants, slowly beginning to slide them down.

He’s impatient, as always, sitting up partially to finish the job before laying back and raising his eyebrows at me expectantly. When at last he springs free of his pants, the sheer size of him amazes me, as it always does. And then I’m like a blushing girl again, my cheeks warming as I wrap my fingers around him, making him chuckle.

“I have to say, doll, it’s pretty damn satisfying to see how big those pretty eyes get whenever you see my cock.”

“So lewd,” I murmur under my breath, though his words spur me on. I lean down, hair falling in a curtain on each side of my face as my tongue darts out, traveling the length of him in one quick swipe. He hisses through his teeth, head falling back against the pillows when at last I wrap my lips around him, moving slowly, teasingly at first. My movements are controlled and precise, taking more and more of him into my mouth with each bob of my head, swiping my tongue against the sensitive underside of his tip before sliding down again.

He’s groaning before long, one hand fisting in the strands of my hair, tugging. Unable to help myself, because it’s almost too much to see the half-lidded look of pleasure in his eyes, I moan, and the vibrations from my throat only serve to make him choke out another groan.

“Fuck, Mazia,” he breathes as I pick up my pace. My entire body feels as if it’s on fire, his ecstasy and deep moans driving my body insane. I almost consider stopping to climb atop him, but I force myself to continue; today is the day I’ve been waiting for, and I won’t ruin it now. 

His hips begin to buck as if he cannot control them, his grip in my hair tightening, his head falling back to reveal his throat. It takes everything within me not to gag as I soldier on, and then with one last long, twirling swipe of my tongue, he grunts and stills. I do not pull away until he is done, swallowing and offering a few gentle licks to clean him up before I sit up, wiping at my mouth. He follows, reaching to pull me towards him with a murmured, “Your turn”, but I hold out my hand to stop him.

“As hard as it is for me to say no,” I murmur breathily, heart pounding, “it’s time to go get this damn cast off.”

He stares at me for a long moment before collapsing back against the pillows, his laughter deep and genuine. It brings a smile to my face which I quickly wipe away, replacing it with a cross expression as I straddle him, folding my arms over my chest.

“It was hard enough to wake you up – “

“Oh, honey, that’s not the only thing that was hard.”

“ - _and now,_ ” I continue, scowling as he laughs at his own bawdy joke, “you are wasting more precious time.”

Teasing me, he fakes a yawn and folds his arms behind his head. “You know, after a blowjob like that, I’m pretty damn tired. I think I should go back to sleep.”

“ _Negan._ ” Quick as a flash, I grab one of the pillows and bring it down on his head, spluttering with laughter as he suddenly lurches up, sending me sprawling back on the bed. 

“Oh, you did _not_ just fucking go there,” he says with a grin, holding me down with one hand while the other takes the pillow. He is relentless as he buffets me with it, and I’m choking on my laughter and pleas by the time he finally rolls off of me with one final whack.

“Alright, alright. You’re lucky you’re so goddamn gorgeous, because I don’t take well to being woken up so fucking early,” he says. I roll onto my stomach, watching as he pulls clothes out of his dresser. It’s impossible not to admire his form as he slips on a pair of jeans and a clean gray t-shirt, followed by his boots and jacket. When he’s done he glances towards me, grinning incredulously.

“You going to see Carson like that?” he asks, gesturing to the overly large t-shirt I wear – his – and a lacy pair of underwear. “Because if you say yes, I might be fucking jealous, doll.”

I wrinkle my nose as I climb off the bed, beginning to riffle through my own tiny dresser of clothes, which has slowly been filling the more time I’ve spent in Negan’s rooms. “I don’t even want to think about Carson seeing me in my underwear.”

“Me either,” Negan assures me as I slip on a tight pair of loose-legged jeans to accommodate the cast and a coral sweater, leaving my one unencumbered foot bare. I run a brush through my hair quickly and then hobble over to where my crutches are, but Negan shakes his head and lifts me instead.

“No need for those anymore,” he says, his words making me smile as he carries me from the bedroom into the office. Carter is slumbering by the door, rising and stretching when he sees us. Together, the three of us make our way down the stairwell outside, Negan cradling me against his chest and Carter following behind. This last month and a half has been bliss, but I am beyond ready to be whole again. 

Carson is sipping at a cup of coffee when we enter, glancing up with a brief smile as Negan places me down on one of the infirmary beds. 

“Ready to have this off, then?” Carson asks, putting down his cup and tapping the cast with a finger.

“She’s practically fucking bouncing with joy,” Negan says with a scowl, though he offers me a wink when Carson turns, pulling out a deep drawer and beginning to rifle through it.

“Now, where is it…ah. Here.” Carson lifts a little cast saw from the drawer; though I’ve never broken a bone before, Kiyah had been a notorious klutz in our childhood. I can’t count the amount of times I sat with her and our parents at the doctor’s office while she had wrists, ankles, and even her arm set in a cast. And likewise, I was there with her when they cut the casts off, reassuring her when she cried and fretted that the saw would cut her.

So I’m not afraid when Carson plugs in the saw and it whirs to life. He bends over my ankle, rolling up my jeans before beginning to cut slowly through the cast. It’s painless, if not odd-feeling, but despite the excited expression upon my face, Negan still scowls and hovers over me. It’s a silent threat to Carson, warning him against hurting me.

When at last the cast is cracked, Carson peels it off, followed by layers of gauze padding. When the cool air hits my skin, it feels so strange that I sigh. My ankle and the bit of skin above and below it exposed to the cast are dry and wrinkly, and I wrinkle my nose at the sight. Still, I’m so very relieved to have it off that nothing can dampen the experience.

Carter takes my ankle gently in his hand, rotating it. It’s stiff and foreign feeling, making me cringe as little pinpricks of pain radiate from the bone. But it’s nothing major, and after watching for my reaction, Carter nods.

“It will be stiff and perhaps a bit painful at first when trying to walk on it. But as long as there’s no major pain, that’s normal. Just walk through what pain there is to strength it, and we’ll work on it soon. You might have difficulty standing on it for a bit, too, until you’re used to it again. We can begin physical therapy immediately tomorrow, if you’d like. Nine A.M.?”

“Sounds wonderful. Thank you, doctor,” I say earnestly, and he smiles. Still, he and Negan both watch me guardedly as I slip off the bed. I’m reluctant to put weight on the stiff ankle at first, but slowly, so slowly, I do. The pain is a sharp twinge but not unbearable; the worst part is how very unsteady I feel on my feet, wobbling when I try to take a step.

Negan’s hand shoots out to stabilize me, and I glance up into his concerned toffee gaze. “Careful, doll,” he growls in warning, and I nod. 

“Just testing it out.”

“Do you need me to carry you back upstairs?”

“I’ll walk. But I might be a little slow.” He smiles at my answer and nods to Carson, keeping his hand on my arm as slowly, so slowly, we move through the Sanctuary. Carter paces anxiously at my heels, but does not interrupt us as we go. Walking feels so strange now, and my ankle is complaining soundly. But there’s none of the pain of a broken bone anymore; there is only cranky aches and pains from stiffness. 

There’s a noticeable limp which sours my mood slightly, but I tell myself that it is not permanent. It can’t be. With time and strengthening methods, my ankle will be as good as new again. I am determined for that outcome.

The stairs are a little more difficult; putting weight solely on the food makes me wobble and grit my teeth. Negan tries several times to lift me, but I insist. After entirely too long, we finally reach the landing and move down the hall. I’m relieved when we reach Negan’s office and I can at last collapse into one of the arm chairs, lifting my ankle to rub at it.

“Mazia,” Negan says, kneeling beside me. “It’s the first day. Shit, it hasn’t even been an hour. You gotta take it fucking easy, baby.” 

“I know,” I say, my gaze meeting his as I lift my hand to place it briefly against the stubble upon his jaw. “I’m just…worried. Worried it won’t heal right. That I won’t be the same.”

“It’s too soon to worry,” he tells me, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against my forehead. “Besides. You’re fuckin’ hot enough for me to overlook a little limp.”

My palm smacks against his shoulder, hard and abrupt, but he hardly seems phased. In fact, he only laughs.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter due to work, buuut here it is!
> 
> And what you've all been waiting so patiently for, too!

_In the low lamplight, I was free  
Heaven and hell were words to me_

"Carson is ruthless."

I'm perched on one of the counter tops in the kitchen, wincing as I massage my swollen ankle in my hands. The kitchen crew are bustling around me, beginning early prep for dinner. 

"Don't be dramatic," Kiyah tells me as she slips from the freezer, slapping a pack of corn, harvested from Hilltop and frozen to preserve, on the counter beside me. I take it gratefully, holding it to the warm, swollen flesh. "Besides. He _told_ you to go buy a compression wrap from commissary."

"I will, when I can actually walk," I grumble. The first morning of physical therapy wasn't exactly easy. Though Carson informed me that initial pain and swelling was to be expected, my mood is soured by it. This morning consisted of him rotating and stretching the muscles, gradually having me put a small amount of weight on it, and taking brief laps around the room. 

"You'll be back to your old self in no time," Kiyah assures me as she takes her place along the counter near me, beginning to chop vegetables for the dinner stew. Winter is approaching far too quickly for my liking; we're relying on meat from the other communities more than anything now. Hilltop and the Kingdom have been good on that, but Alexandria mostly sends canned goods. It was a smart move to freeze vegetables during the summer months. 

"I hope so," I confess, plucking a thawed bell pepper from her pile. She scowls and swats at my hand. "I miss patrolling. Going on runs."

At this, she frowns. "James says Negan's been rallying men - even men from maintenance and the kitchen. Apparently something's going on."

I lower my voice and tell her, "someone is harassing the compounds. Negan's serious about finding out who."

"Runs will be dangerous. Do you think he'll let you go?"

"I'll find a way to make him."

Her frown deepens. "Wouldn't you be safer here? If something happened to you..." she shakes her head. "I was worried sick when Simon came to get Carter that night and said you were missing."

"Hey." I soften my voice, not missing the dampness in her eyes. "Don't worry about me, Kiyah. That was a fluke. You won't lose me."

She nods her head, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve before resuming chopping. "No matter what happens, just be careful."

I watch her for a long moment, so in her element here. She handles the knife as if it's an extension of herself, chopping swiftly, smoothly. She looks...happy. She looks home. 

The moment is interrupted by the doors slamming open abruptly. Everyone in the kitchen pauses, glancing up, perhaps expecting Negan. But instead, it's Amber. 

Unlike with Sherry, I have formed no friendship with her. I've seen her since Negan dismissed his wives, but she has never once looked at me, seeming content to ignore me. Even now she sashays past me without a glance, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. Her clothes are considerably less fashionable than they once were; Sherry had confided that she'd returned to laundry duty. 

I watch as she moves to where James is opening cans of stewed tomatoes. She leans against the counter beside him, still tossing her long hair, her eyes roaming across him. 

"James," she coos, and I can barely resist rolling my eyes at the tone of her voice. Her lips purse into a pout. "Do you think maybe I can have a special treat with dinner? Negan used to have the kitchen bake things for us all the time..."

At last her eyes flick to me, narrowing, accusing. It's so brief that I think perhaps I imagined it. 

James is clearly uncomfortable, shaking his head. "Sorry, Amber. No can do."

She sighs dramatically, extending a hand to run a finger down his arm. Beside me, I see Kiyah tense. She and James are unquestionably involved, and I feel a surge of protectiveness, metaphorical claws curling. 

But James is smoothly sidestepping away before I can say anything, shaking his head again. "We have to be careful with stores now that winter is here. Sorry."

Finally seeing that she won't get her way, Amber's wide-eyed flirtatiousness fades and she huffs, striding away from him. But then, as luck would have it, she pauses when she passes me. The thankful girl who sobbed when I saved her life is gone; in her wake is a cold-eyed woman who sees me as a clear threat. 

"Mazia. What a surprise to see you lurking in the kitchens. Shouldn't you be upstairs, living the life of luxury as Negan's precious treasure?"

The kitchen has gone quiet. I feel eyes on us as beside me Kiyah stiffens further, knuckles white on the handle of the knife, and turns, as prepared to defend me as I was her. 

"Always a pleasure, Amber," I reply, voice impassive, smooth. I've dealt with girls like her before. Granted, it was in high school; it's thoroughly exhausting to see they still exist in the apocalypse. "I think I' spent enough time living in, uh, _luxury_ while my ankle was healing."

"Oh, yes, I heard about your ankle and you escaping the trap," she says, voice thick with false sweetness. "Such a pity."

I'm not sure if she means the injury, or escaping. Either way I say nothing as she sidles from the room, the kitchen doors thunking closed behind her. 

There is a long moment of silence, and then a low whistle from James. "What a nutjob," he says cheerily. 

I can't help myself; I burst into laughter, and a moment later Kiyah's stony expression clears as she begins to laugh, too. The sour mood Amber's presence left fades, leaving warmth and companionship in its wake. 

\---

"Amber's just a giant fucking pain in the ass. She always has been. Don't worry about her."

Negan and I are curled together in the middle of the bed, his head on my stomach, my fingers in his hair, my damned ankle wrapped in a compress and elevated on a pillow. It's been another long day of meetings and planning for him, and he hasn't even bothered to strip out of his jacket or boots, which dangle off the edge of the mattress. 

"She'll get over it," I tell him, though I'm not so sure. Amber seems like the type to hold a grudge, but I don't want to burden him with trivial problems when he already has so much on his plate. “How are things going? With the meetings?”

Only begrudgingly have I sat out of them; Negan insisted due to my ankle. But soon, I won’t take no for an answer. I need to know what’s going on with the Sanctuary, and how to help the Saviors. How to help Negan.

“Still have no fucking clue who it is. Think I’m going to have to take a goddamn trip to all of the compounds to try to find out.” He sighs, nuzzling his face into my stomach, and when he glances up at me, the look in his eyes makes my stomach twist. “I need a distraction.”

My breath hitches as his hands slide beneath my shirt, his calloused fingers ghosting across my skin, eliciting goosebumps. He shifts so that he’s hovering above me, though I notice he’s careful to keep his full weight off of me. The air is cool against my flesh when he rolls my t-shirt up to rest just beneath my breasts, beginning to place little kisses against my stomach, his stubble making me shiver.

“You _did_ say wait until your cast was off,” he murmurs against my skin, glancing up at me from beneath his eyelashes, his smile devious. “You’re still a damn cripple, but I think I can make it worth your while.”

“If you call me a cripple one more time,” I say, not missing how my voice is breathy and low. Judging by his smirk, Negan doesn’t either. “I’ll make you wait another year.”

“I don’t think you _could_ , sweetheart.” His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, silencing any witty retort I might have murmured. There’s nothing I can focus on now besides the way he begins to kiss his way up towards my chest, stopping occasionally to nip at the skin. His hands lift from my jeans to push at my shirt, and I sit up just slightly so that he can tug it over my head, tossing it to the floor. He stops, kneeling over me, his gaze roving across my full breasts. 

“Nice fucking bra,” he comments, grinning. It’s a lacy baby blue thing that I picked up from the massive, clothing filled closet his wives left behind – only after Negan assured me there were so many clothes in there that it was unlikely his wives had worn most of them. Not to mention that he’d let Sherry and Amber take what they wanted when they left, an attempt to soften the blow. 

“The panties match,” I tell him in a whisper, as if divulging a secret. His eyes darken, and his hands immediately go to my jeans, unbuttoning them and beginning to roll them down my legs. He stops when he gets to my injured ankle, his hands gentle as he traces a finger across the compress, glancing up at me.

“Does it hurt? As fucking stunning as you look right now, we can wait if you need to. It’s only the first day.” 

“Its fine,” I tell him, the look in my eyes accepting no arguments. I’ve waited long enough for Negan; I want him tonight. 

Still, he tugs my jeans over the compress as softly as possible, before sitting back and whistling low as his eyes hungrily devour my form. I sit up after a moment, tugging the zipper down on his jacket, my hands slipping it off of his shoulders.

“I’m already half naked, and you’re fully dressed. Entirely unfair,” I tell him, leaning forward further to place a kiss against his neck before I peel his shirt off, running my hands across the light dusting of hair across his chest. He watches me, pupils dilated, his desire burning and obvious. And my own body answers the call of his, my need for him building from an ember to a flame. 

His lips meet mine as he pushes me back down against the mattress. I tilt my head back as our tongues brush, pressing my breasts against his chest, arching into him. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat as he begins to kiss and suck at my neck, nipping at my collarbone, moving lower across the mounds of my breasts. His hand slips behind me, his fingers swiftly and deftly unclasping my bra, which he tosses away without second thought.

And then his mouth is on one of my nipples, his teeth grazing it, making me gasp and arch further into him. His hand moves to my other breast, squeezing and pinching, the little twinges of pain only serving to make me want him more. I have no doubt that my skin will be red and raw from his stubble tomorrow, but the thought thrills me, my fingers curling into his hair. 

He chuckles as he begins to move lower, settling between the juncture of my thighs. When his tongue darts out to soothe my ache, I moan for him, my hair falling around my shoulders as I tilt my head back, eyes drifting closed. His hands are firmly holding my hips down as he drags his tongue across me again and again, before focusing on the little bundle of nerves that makes me bow off of the bed in pleasure, his hands the only things grounding me.

His laugh vibrates against me, and I open my eyes to cast a brief scowl in his direction. But it’s swiftly wiped from my face, replaced by a look of pure ecstasy as he begins to suck and lick, one of his fingers teasing my entrance. Only then does he pause and pull away, muttering, “ _Fuck_ , Mazia, you’re soaked.”

I sit up before he can continue, coaxing him up to meet my lips again as my hands go to his belt, and then to the button of his jeans. I’ve spent too much time waiting for him, and I let the need shine bold and bright in my eyes as I pull away to look at him, tugging his pants down over his waist. “I need you.”

He’s swift to rid himself of his jeans and boxers then, as impressive as always. He leans over me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath on my skin making me ache. But strangely, I find that I’m nervous. I lift a palm to his chest and he pulls away to look down at me, concern shining in his eyes.

“It’s just…I haven’t been with anyone in years,” I tell him, “and even before that, only two. I’m just scared that I’ll disappoint you.”

“Mazia.” His hand comes up to brush across my face, his expression serious. “You will _not_ disappoint me. Fuck, I still can’t believe you’re naked underneath me. It’s almost enough to make me embarrass myself.”

There’s a devious look in his gaze as he settles between my hips, his length pressing against my entrance. And even though my stomach twists into knots, I slide my arms around his neck and meet his gaze as he slowly pushes into me. I can see the pleasure and restraint in his eyes once his hips are fully pressed against mine, though he does not immediately begin moving, letting me adjust. It’s not painful, but…strange. Even with the others, no one had been quite the size of Negan. It’s a feeling of fullness and…completion. So I nudge his hips with my own encouragingly, and immediately he begins to move. 

A little moan escapes from my lips as he slides in and out of me, slowly at first, his pace agonizing. I begin to shift my hips up to meet his, craving more, and the bastard _grins_ as he continues his lazy, leisurely pace. He’s teasing me, setting my body on fire, my skin hot, cheeks flushed. Nothing has ever felt as right as it does to make love to Negan, the little noises that slip from between my traitorous lips urging him on as he bends to take one of my nipples between his teeth.

And still, his pace is slow.

 _”Negan,”_ I huff out, still trying to coax him with my hips. 

“Oh, I’m fucking sorry. Did you want something?” he asks, his warm breath ghosting across my stiff nipple, making me shiver. “You’re gonna have to ask, sweetheart.”

“Bastard,” I gasp as he sheathes himself fully within me…and then pauses. “Harder. Faster. _Anything_.”

I have only a moment to take in the look in his eyes before he begins moving, one of his large hands capturing both of my wrists, pinning them above my head against the mattress. His pace is relentless now, driving into me again and again, his teeth nipping at my neck. The feel of his beard against my skin, his hips snapping against mine, his calloused palms holding my thin wrists so effortlessly…it’s all too much, and already I feel the pressure building between my thighs. I had always known that being with Negan would be unlike anything else, but _this_ …this is heaven. 

Despite the twinge of pain from my ankle, I lift my legs to wrap them around his waist, pulling him into me with each thrust. He groans, the sound low and delicious, only serving to make the pressure build faster. I’m practically panting now, unable to stop myself from moaning his name, and one of his hands lowers to fist gently in my hair, pulling my head back until our eyes meet. The same inferno I feel in my blood boils in his gaze, and he must be able to see how close I am from the look on my face, because he grins and – incredibly – begins to move faster, harder, against me. My thighs will be bruised tomorrow but I welcome it, soft mewls tumbling from my lips as I arch against him, pulling him deeper.

“ _Fuck_ , Mazia,” he groans, his eyes half-lidded, voice gravelly. There’s no way to stop the crest rising fast inside of me now, and he sees it; he leans down close to my ear, nibbling at the lobe, and growls a possessive, “You’re mine. Prove it to me.”

And that’s all it takes. I come unraveled beneath him, crying out his name again and again as the waves crash down inside of me, my walls constricting around him. And then with a grunt of his own his thrusts go from swift and merciless to slow and long, his body shuddering as he finds his own release.

He collapses beside me, breathing hard, and I turn towards him to nuzzle into the warm, safe embrace of his arms. He leans down to place a kiss against my hair, and then we lay there, entwined and sweating but entirely content in each other’s arms. The candles have burned down to nothing now, and slivers of moonlight creep through the window, catching in the strands of my hair and the silver in his beard. 

“And you thought you would disappoint me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sleepy. I grin, leaning up to place a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Was that a proper distraction?” I ask him, and he chuckles, tugging the blankets up to cover both of us. 

“I don’t even fucking remember what I was worried about.”

I hum, but offer nothing else as a comfortable silence settles over us. Already my muscles ache in the sweetest of ways, and I let my eyes drift shut as I hear Negan’s breathing begin to deepen. It’s not long before I follow him into the world of dreams.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you guys! I can't believe the next one will be chapter 20!

  
_How many times, how many lies_  
_Does it take to demonstrate?_  
_To change the apathy that’s ingrained_  
_The screams, the cries. Behind the lies._  


“Absolutely fucking _not_.”

Negan stands on one side of the bed, staring at me, his toffee eyes steely. I stare up at him placidly from my place in the center of the mattress, sprawled on my stomach, my ankles crossed. “Why not?”

“Because you still have three fucking weeks left of your physical therapy, Mazia.”

“Doctor Carson thinks I might get it done in two. He says I’m improving very quickly,” I point out cheekily. He glares at me, but I only bat my eyes innocently in return. 

“You are not patrolling. Period.”

“Just hear me out,” I say, sliding off the bed to trail him as he stalks into his office. My ankle is still stiff, but the soreness and strangeness of walking on it is fading with Carson’s help, slowly but surely. “Carson wants me to walk laps around the Sanctuary. Two at the least, four if I can manage it. Why not patrol if I have to walk the perimeter anyways? It’s not like I’m asking to go out on runs. Yet.”

He whirls to face me, shaking his head. “ _Don’t_ even go there. You know how I feel about you going on runs.”

I roll my eyes, my hands going to my hips. It’s a move that signifies stubbornness, and he knows it, because he sighs and collapses dramatically into his chair. “Negan. I went on runs before.”

“And almost fucking died!”

“Why does everyone seem to keep forgetting that I stepped in a _trap?_ Do you think I saw it underwater and thought, 'oh, gee, wonder what that is? Better stick my foot in it and find out!'” He opens his mouth to argue but I hold up a hand. A look of irritation crosses his face, but he quiets. “I know you’re worried about me. But I can’t just stay cooped up here forever.”

“And why fucking not? My wives never complained.”

“I’m not a wife. Things are different,” I inform him, my eyes narrowing in warning. For a moment we simply sit glaring at each other, and then he sighs again, seeming to almost deflate as he leans back in his chair. 

“I’ve been lenient with you, Mazia. I’ve let you sit in on meetings and have your freedom. Fuck, I’ll let you patrol if that’s what you want. But I don’t want you going on runs when you’re better.”

I fold my arms over my chest, entirely unsatisfied with this. Getting involved with Negan is something I have never regretted, but likewise, I can’t let him control me fully. “This is a different world we live in, Negan. You know it better than anyone else. I know you want to keep me safe, but do you think I’m any safer here than I would be out there? Do you not remember what happened with Jerry and your wives?”

His face contorts into a snarl, so I rush to clarify.

“I’m not blaming you.” I move towards where he sits, bringing my hands up to cup his cheeks, my thumbs brushing across the stubble near his lips. “But no matter what, it is impossible for me to be safe. And I _want_ to go on runs. I want to do what I’m good at. Please let me.”

He bends to rest his head against my stomach, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist. I do not break the silence this time; I let him think as I stand and enjoy the proximity to him, the feel of his breath warming the fabric of my shirt.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he murmurs at last. “You can patrol inside of the gates. Three times a week. But don’t force me to give you an answer on runs right now.”

It’s as close as I’ll get, so I nod and lean down to place a kiss against his forehead gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Shit, doll, you’re a lot of trouble, you know that?” he asks, but when he pulls away to look up at me, he is smirking. In response, I slide onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and wind my arms around his neck.

“I can be _more_ trouble, if you’d like,” I murmur, immediately feeling the desire spark between us. Ever since finally giving myself to Negan, it’s been like we haven’t been able to get enough of one another. I’d even managed to use points on birth control pills from Carson – who’d been fortunate enough to stock up on the brands with long shelf lives of five years, making them still effective. And so every day I’ve diligently taken them, before folding myself into Negan’s arms, letting him express just how much he loves me with his body and mouth. 

Even now, his lips meet mine immediately, coaxing my mouth open. He kisses me as if he is a drowning man and I am land, as if he will never get the chance again. His hands slide from my hips up to my breasts, slipping inside my shirt and beneath my bra, and I moan into his mouth as his fingers find my nipples.

The noise spurs him on, and he stands only to lay me across his desk, draping his body over me as his lips begin a trail down my neck, my hair spreading around me. I can feel him hardening through his jeans; I have only a pair of panties on beneath my long t-shirt, and I gasp when he rubs against me, the friction feeling entirely too damn good. “Negan,” I begin breathlessly, my fingers tugging at his hair. “Please – “

A knock sounds on the office door, loud and sharp. I startle almost guiltily as Negan curses and straightens. I don’t have time to even sit up before he’s striding over to the door, yanking it open, clearly not bothering to hide the evidence of his desire in his jeans – or me, half-naked and sprawled across his desk. 

Dwight stands there, his eyes sliding from Negan to me as I sit up, quickly tugging the t-shirt down over my thighs. 

“Eyes up here, fuckhead,” Negan snarls, and Dwight looks back towards him, the skin on the smooth side of this cheek reddening. “As you can fucking see, you interrupted something very important. This better be goddamn good, or you’re gonna get acquainted with the iron again.”

I feel bad for Dwight as he fidgets, eyes sliding to the floor. “Sorry, boss. But Simon told me to come get you. Seems like there was a breach in the gate; biter got in and bit Mason. He’s in the infirmary, and construction’s working on the fence.”

“What the fucking fuck?” Negan spits, striding across the room to grab Lucille from her place beside the desk. I watch with narrowed eyes, looking from Negan to Dwight and back again. “How many fucking people do I have to watch the fence? And not one of you stupid motherfuckers noticed a goddamn hole? Is everyone around here a massive fucking idiot except for me?”

He pauses halfway to the door and turns, eyes settling on me. In a few short strides he’s before the desk again, taking my face in one gloved hand, leaning down to place a promising kiss on my lips. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he purrs under his breath with a wink, and then his face is once again scowling and furious as he whirls on Dwight.

“Let’s fucking go,” he barks, leaving Dwight stumbling as he pushes past the smaller man. There’s a moment where Dwight does not follow; he’s standing in the doorway, simply looking at me. 

“Dwight?” I ask, eyebrows furrowing as I see something strange in his gaze. “Is everything alright?”

He shakes his head as if from a trance and smiles ruefully at me. “Yeah. As good as it can be, Maz. Just…look, just be careful, alright?”

I want to ask what he means – if he’s talking about with Negan, or something else. But then the door is shutting behind him and I’m left confused, frowning. Something about Dwight has been strange lately; he has been quieter than usual, though it’s not like we’ve ever been the best of friends. Still, there was a time when he would talk to me, occasionally keep me company while we were both on patrol duty. Ever since Negan and I got together, however, I’ve seen less and less of Dwight.

 _Maybe he’s back with Sherry,_ I think as I slide off of the desk. _Nothing to worry about._ Now that I’m alone, I let an elated grin slip across my lips. Negan has at last given in to my pleas to patrol, and I fully intend to start today. I’m sure _someone_ on duty will be glad for me to relieve them.

I slip on a dark pair of jeans, a sweater, and my jacket with the faux fur hood. I’m careful to wrap my ankle firmly before slipping on my boots, as Carson advises, and beginning to strap my knives to my figure. It feels good to have the weight of them there once more, familiar and comforting. Lastly I buckle my gun and holster it to my thigh, whislting for Carter where he’s slumbering in the bedroom; the two of us stride from the room and down the halls.

It takes me longer to get down the stairs than it once did; Carson has been having me walk them as well, though I still have to be careful. But at last I reach the landing and stride out into the cold. At last winter has fallen upon us, though the snow has not yet come. Negan assures me that it will.

It’s nothing new to me, after growing up in Massachusetts and living in New York City briefly for school. The cold is familiar and biting, and I breathe in the crisp air as I slide a pair of warm wool gloves from the jacket of my coat. They’re black as night and velvety on the outside, a gift from Negan found during one of his runs. I slide them on and flex my fingers before strolling towards the gates.

A man named Mitchell is on duty, looking distinctly disgruntled and more than a little hungover. He’s so relieved when I offer to take his place that he doesn’t ask questions, simply nodding and then wincing at the movement of his head. I frown as he ambles off, watching him go. It’s a terrible idea for a man who can barely move his head to be on duty; I hope he doesn’t make it a habit.

I begin to move along the perimeter of the gate, lifting a hand towards the two men in the guard towers, who wave in return. Carter prowls along beside me as I walk, my pace slow and measured, attempting not to strain my ankle too much. Still, it feels so good to walk after being unable to for so long. 

Halfway around the largest building in the Sanctuary, I come upon three people huddled by the gates and pause. I recognize Caden immediately, as well as Margot and Kyle from the construction crew. There’s blood splattered across the pavement, and a walker body with a bullet between the eyes that Carter growls at.

Hearing this, Caden glances up, eyes settling on me. He looks tired and worried, though somehow he still musters a smile for me. “Oh. Hey, Maz.”

Margot looks up, shortly followed by Kyle as he patches up the last of the fence. All of them look weary and uncomfortable, and I frown as I approach.

“Why the long faces?” I ask.

“Biter got in. Bit one of the patrol guys,” Margot says in her usual gruff voice. “Had to have his arm amputated. Boss is pretty furious with us. I don't understand. We checked all of the fences yesterday...” 

“We haven’t had a breach in months now,” Kyle murmurs. “Last time, guy named Marco paid for it.”

I frown, unsettled by the news. A part of me suspected that Negan might punish someone for this, of course, but looking into the faces of people I’d worked with for weeks, at Caden…it makes my stomach clench. “Well…at least it’s fixed now.”

It’s a weak response, and I know it, but they all smile and nod anyways. Margo and Kyle shuffle off, but Caden lingers to walk beside me as I start moving along the fence line again, eyes scanning the horizon. 

“So you’re up and at it now, huh?” Caden asks, breaking the silence and glancing over at me. I nod happily, patting the hilts of my knives.

“Negan approved it this morning. Three times a week. Carson wanted me to walk, anyways.”

“How’s the ankle holding up?”

“Good. Not really swelling anymore. It’s getting better.”

I’m sure he can hear the relief in my voice, and he smiles, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. I stop, turning to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. He’s tall – not as tall as Negan – and he cranes his head to look down at me.

“Hey,” I say quietly, under my breath. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s all gonna work out. I’ll try to talk to Negan or something.”

I don’t know if that’s the best idea, but the relief that flashes in his gaze warms me. “Thanks, Mazia. You’re…a good friend.”

I smile gently at the words, glad that my relationship with Negan did not end my friendship with Caden. As I step away from him, I see a brief flash of movement behind him that draws my attention.

It’s Dwight, slipping from the compound. His strides are long and quick, his gaze sweeping the compound ahead of him, though he does not see Caden and I standing off to the side. I watch as he checks around him before slipping into the large ammunition building. Something about his behavior is strange, but it’s not long before he’s striding out again, hands in his pockets, whistling jovially. All of the furtiveness from before is gone; I wonder if I imagined it.

“What is it?” Caden asks, turning and following my gaze to Dwight, who is slipping back into the compound.

“Nothing,” I answer, starting to walk again, Caden at my side and Carter on my heels. “Maybe I’m just tired.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the brief gap in between chapters! I have finals approaching very quickly and a presentation I have to prepare, but then I get two and a half blessed weeks off of school, and that will means TONS of chapters. Bear with me through this final stretch!
> 
> Now! Chapter 20! Big things set into motion :D make sure to read the end notes for clarification!

  
_He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends_  
_I'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven_  
_If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes_  
_I know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight."_  


I wake sprawled across the giant bed, hair mussed, the sheets tangled around my ankles. Negan's side of the bed is empty, though a tray of breakfast sits on the table in the corner, covered and waiting.

I smile as I sit up, wishing he was beside me but knowing his duties have called him away. After a moment of rolling around in bed and enjoying the warmth, I slip from the mattress, relieved as always when my ankle does not protest. I finished physical therapy only two days ago, but already I feel _whole_ again. Soon, I will need to test myself, to establish the bounds of what my healed bones can and cannot do. 

I don't have to patrol until nightfall, leaving me an afternoon of endless possibilities. I mull over it as I nibble at my breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Afterwards, I slip into a pair of jeans, my warmest sweater, soft and baby blue, my boots, and jacket. I take a moment to gaze at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I brush through my hair. It's grown even longer in the last few months; perhaps I'll ask Kiyah to trim the ends. 

After my knives and gun are strapped into place, I slip from the room and whistle to Carter, the two of us making our way downstairs. 

The Sanctuary is buzzing with life as always, and as I step out into the cool winter air, two children go careening past, laughing and chasing, leaving little bootprints in the snow. 

It's strange, to see the plush blanket of ivory stretching across the horizon. It has been an unexpected blessing, for the biters have become less of a threat than ever, the vast majority of them frozen. The only threat we face now is the groups who have continued to attack the outposts, seeming to grow in number. Though Negan has sent reinforcements to each outpost, it's impossible to predict when this strange rogue group will strike again, or where. 

I've just dusted snow from one of the benches and sat when Caden approaches. He seems to have a knack for finding me when I'm alone, and I smile in greeting as he sits down beside me. 

"Shouldn't you be off fixing things?" I joke, and he grins. He's regained his happiness since Negan did not punish the construction group for the fence; thankfully, Allan kept rigorous records of repairs and had been able to prove that they had not slacked. 

"It's my day off. Don't pretend like you're not happy to see me."

I roll my eyes, tracing patterns in the snow upon the table with a finger. "How's the weapon training coming?"

Ever since the continued attacks on the outposts, Negan has ordered capable men and women to train with weapons four times a week. Kiyah is included in this, and shows remarkable skill with a sniper rifle. 

"Good, so far. Though Simon is a hardass," Caden replies with a grin. "I've been keeping an eye on Kiyah for you. She's doing well."

I nod, happy to hear it. Just last week, Kiyah shyly announced to me that she was moving into James' room. It's a relief to see her happy and in love in a world with so little contentment to offer. 

"How's progress with Negan going? He gonna let you go on runs?"

"Haven't asked yet," I shrug. "Carson only cleared me two days ago. I don't want to push it too soon."

"Smart. You're badass, but you're not invincible."

I stretch out my legs in response, boots crunching in the snow as I cross my ankles. Carter is snuffling in a pile of snow a short distance away, occasionally stopping to roll, his sable fur peppered with white flakes. 

"I'm thinking about trying to get moved to patrol," Caden says. 

"Oh yeah?" I quirk a brow at him. "That's new."

"Yeah, well. I'm enjoying weapons training more than I thought I would. Simon says I'd be good for patrol." He shoots me a white-toothed grin. "And then I can watch your back on runs."

I scoff playfully. "I think I'd be the one watching _your_ back."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see." 

We sit talking for a while, enjoying the crisp air, laughing over trivial things. When at last we part and I settle into the routine of my patrol, it is with a light heart. The Sanctuary has become so precious to me, this home where I have my sister, Caden, and Negan. Slowly but surely, my life is willing with people that I cherish again.

It is something I have missed dearly. 

\--- 

I’m tired and cold by the time my shift ends, rubbing my fingers together within my gloves as I tromp up the stairs towards Negan’s apartment. Or, rather, _our_ apartment now.

He’s sitting at his desk when I enter, sock-clad feet propped on the desk, a glass of scotch in one hand. He glances up as I enter, grinning. The room is warm, the fireplace crackling merrily, and I breathe a grateful sigh of relief as I begin peeling off clothing, shrugging out of my coat and pulling the gloves from my fingers.

“Figured you’d be freezing your sweet little ass off,” he says, picking up a second glass of scotch and offering it to me. I kick off my boots and smile, taking it as I move around the desk to settle on his lap, Carter already half-asleep by the fire. 

“You’re so considerate,” I tell him, placing a soft kiss on his temple before taking a gulp of the scotch, which seems to warm my insides immediately.

He snorts. “Considerate? There are a hell of a lot of people who’d disagree with you there, sweetheart.”

“Because they don’t know you like I do.” I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling his arms wind around me, his tense muscles slowly relaxing. “Long day?”

“Fuck yeah. Getting ready to try to catch these fuckers once and for all.” He pauses, lifting his glass over my head to finish it off before he sighs, placing it on the table with a heavy thunk. “Not to mention it’s as cold as a goddamn witch’s snatch outside.”

“ _Negan_ ,” I admonish, though I can’t help but laugh breathily against his skin, which makes him shiver. “Language.”

“Well excuse the fucking shit out of me,” he replies, leaning down to nip at my neck playfully. But the playful little kisses turn serious soon, our lips meeting, the kiss deep and passionate. I move to straddle him fully, his hands settling on my hips, fingers splaying across my lower back beneath my shirt. There is the ever present feeling that I cannot get close _enough_ to him, even as he grinds his erection against me through our jeans, even as my fingers tangle in his hair and my breasts brush his chest. 

With a growl he breaks away to yank off his shirt, and then mine, my bra following only seconds later. There is no interruption this time as he hungrily latches onto one of my nipples, his other hand coming up to knead my breast, making me moan and squirm against him. 

I gasp as he stands up abruptly, wrapping my legs around his waist so that I don’t fall. His hands grasp my backside, his eyes roving across my face, his breathing as heavy as my own. I expect him to carry me to the bedroom, but instead he presses my back against the wall, trapping me between it and his towering, delicious form. 

He holds me up as he snaps the button of my jeans, peeling them off a little awkwardly but still efficiently, my panties following. And then his hands are between my legs, parting my folds, making my hips jerk when he finds the little bundle of nerves that makes my knees weak. He grins knowingly, beginning to rub slow, lazy circles that have me trembling as he bends to nibble at my collarbone. When he slides a finger inside of me at last, I gasp and wiggle my hips against his hand, a frustrated noise escaping my lips.

“Patience,” he chides, amusement and desire warring in his voice as he adds a second finger and begins to slide them in and out slowly, driving me absolutely insane. His body is the only thing holding me up, my legs a vice grip around his waist as his free hands unbuckles his belt, the telltale snap of his jeans unbuttoning making me shiver. 

Twice he brings me to the brink of release before stopping, laughing when I curse. I’m practically panting by the time he removes his fingers, watching with hooded eyes as he marvels at the wetness coating the digits. 

“You’re always so fucking ready for me,” he growls, his jeans falling to the floor at last, boxers following. When he begins to rub the swollen tip of his length between my thighs, I moan and tilt my head back. Taking it as an invitation, he bites down on my neck just as he thrusts inside of me, my high-pitched keen of surprise and relief slipping from my lips before I can stop it.

His strokes are lazy and languid at first, teasing, and then suddenly he breaks away from sucking at the skin of my neck to murmur, “you better hold on, sweetheart.”

That is my only warning. He begins to snap his hips against mine swiftly, his hands clutching my thighs, pulling me down with each upward thrust. It feels too good to even comprehend, my hair a tangled mess around my face as I wrap my arms firmly around his neck, moaning into his mouth when his lips crash down on mine. Already I feel the pressure building within me, a pleasure so sweet that it steals my breath, his teasing from earlier leaving me on the brink. And he pushes me over effortlessly now as his length hits a sweet spot within me, his name bursting loudly from my lips as he continues to plunge into me. 

I’m a shivering, whimpering mess when the tide of pleasure retreats, my head lolling to rest on his shoulder as he continues to slide in and out of me, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in. My nails dig into his shoulders, making him grunt with appreciation as he continues with his relentless pace. It’s not long before he’s driving my body into a frenzy again, my moans rising in time with his thrusts. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans as I tighten my muscles around him, his voice ragged and deep. It sends a shiver down my spine, my back arching against him as he continues his delicious assault. My shoulders will be sore tomorrow from digging into the wall, but in that moment, I can think of nothing but Negan, his scent and the feeling of him inside me overwhelming me. 

I tilt my face up, my teeth nibbling at the lobe of his ear, warm breath washing across his skin. And then my mouth is opening, words spilling out before I can stop them. “I’m yours. I love you, Negan.”

His thrusts lose their smooth pace then, becoming erratic, almost frantic, snapping against mine so hard that I know my thighs will bruise. And then he buries himself inside of me completely, stilling with a loud groan that makes my own body tumble over the edge in response. We come undone together, and when at last we are done, we’re both sweaty and breathing hard.

He lifts me away from the wall as he slips out of me, cradling me against his chest as he carries me into the bedroom, pulling the blankets back and tucking me under them. A moment later he’s sliding in on the other side, arms going around my waist, pulling me possessively against him. And though he did not say the words back, as he never does, I _feel_ his love for me in the way he holds me, the way he buries his nose in my hair and inhales. My eyelids are heavy, my body exhausted and sated as I curl into his embrace. It’s not long before we’re both sound asleep, finding comfort in each other’s arms.

It seems like only seconds later when a noise wakes me, though it must be hours. I’m groggy and confused, wondering why I have roused as I lay in the dark, Negan breathing deeply beside me. And just when I’m beginning to drift off once more, I hear it again. It’s a sound that makes my stomach drop, my blood run cold. I sit up abruptly, hissing “Negan!” He is already stirring from my sharp movement, but my voice brings him abruptly awake. He sits up, reaching for me.

“Mazia?” He is confused, groggy. And then the sound comes again, louder, closer. He mutters a vile string of curses as we both fly out of bed.

Outside of the window, the sound of gunfire and screaming intensifies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie, so. I don't actually know if I have any comic readers here or not; if so, as a warning, I'll be presenting All Out War in an entirely different way. Some things that happened in the comics will still happen the same, some altered. Some things in the comic will not happen. Either way, stick with me! This is an AU, but I'm definitely going to make my best attempt to do the characters and storyline justice!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My presentation tonight went well! Only a few more days of scrambling and then the semester is over ;-; Thank you all so much for your continued views and comments!

  
_Feel like we've been falling down_  
_Like these autumn leaves._  
_But baby don't let winter come,_  
_Don't let our hearts freeze._  


The Sanctuary is complete chaos.

There are men and women everywhere, darting around each other, swinging weapons and firing bullets. The moment I step out from within the compound, hot on Negan’s heels, I pause and suck in a breath. I recognize some men and women from Alexandria and Hilltop fighting, as well as others who are not either – the Kingdom, perhaps?

The gate is in ruins, a truck smashed into the side of the compound, smoking. Though there are very few biters still capable of movement in the snow, a few fresh ones stagger in, groaning and stumbling through the mush, grasping at people who dart past.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?!” Negan roars, already beginning to swing Lucille, the bat catching a young boy who I do not recognize in the side of the head. And then Negan is slipping a gun from the back of his pants, hastily shoved there as we’d dressed in our room. 

He’d tried to make me stay, threatening to lock the door when I refused. It was only when I threatened to go out of the window – a stupid threat, considering we were on the fifth floor – did he grudgingly allow Carter and I to come, murmuring foul oaths the entire way downstairs.

And now I see why. Everything is complete pandemonium, and my eyes wildly scan the area for Kiyah as I plunge forwards into the fray, my gun in one hand and my machete in the other. Carter flanks me, stopping only when I do, ripping the throats from biters that wander too close as I fire my gun at a man descending upon Simon from behind. The man topples, and Simon whirls, shooting me a brief, grateful look before we’re both moving again.

I can hear Negan yelling and cursing over the sound of gunfire, but in the mass of sparring bodies, I cannot find him. Most of the invading colonies are using knives and other similar weapons instead of guns, though a few have apparently scavenged some; I’m glad, in that moment, that Negan raided their armories. 

There’s a whisper of footsteps behind me, the faintest noise. I whirl and lift my machete just in time to meet the slim, deadly katana blade belonging to the dark-skinned woman. Michonne. There is a fiery determination in her eyes as she springs away and takes a defensive stance, and I do the same, my gun slipping back into my holster in favor of wielding my dual machetes. I could fire at her now, take her down, but I have precious few bullets left, and I’d rather save them for others. So I cross both machetes in front of me, finding my footing, praying that my ankle holds up under this unexpected strain.

Swift as a flash, she moves. Her katana swings towards me, clanging when it meets one of my machetes. I swing the other around swiftly, grazing her arm, and she hisses as she jumps back again, blood streaming from the gash. Her reach is longer than mine with her blade, but I have the advantage of two weapons. 

When she comes at me again, her swings are furious, relentless. I match them, dimly aware of Carter lunging at an approaching Alexandrian, latching onto the man’s arm as he screams. In the distance, I hear voices: Rick and Negan, though I cannot make out what they are saying.

Michonne’s blade nicks my arm and I clench my teeth; I must focus. I can feel sweat beading on my brow despite the cold, frigid air and the snow that we maneuver through. My arms are beginning to ache, but I do not falter, meeting each blow and retaliating when I can.

There’s a moment, at last, where she falters. Her boot hits a patch of ice beneath the snow, slipping, and she scrambles. I do not hesitate, striking at her wavering blade, knocking it from her hands. And then, as she goes to gain her balance, eyes sliding to where her weapon sits in the snow, I bring the handle of one machete down on her skull. Hard.

Her eyes roll back and she falls with a gasp, alive but certainly out for a while. I’m breathing hard as I whirl, gaze desperately seeking Negan. 

There’s a flash of gore-splattered barbed wire, and I spot him at last, a gash across his cheek as he swings Lucille at a man who stupidly crosses his path. He is after Rick, who has apparently run out of bullets and is scrambling for something. I move towards them, intending to help, but suddenly I hear Carter growl behind me.

I turn, machetes raised, though I nearly drop them at the sight before me. It’s a fucking _tiger_ , standing with its eyes trained on Carter and I, a vicious snarl on its features. Its maw is splattered with gore, and the body of Kyle from construction lays at its paws, stomach ripped open, innards spilling out.

“Christ,” I whisper, feeling true fear spike through my heart. The tiger begins to prowl towards us, and Carter bristles, snarling. “Carter! _Hacke!_ ” 

He obeys and heels, to my immense relief. He would not stand a chance against the tigers claws and fangs. But then again, neither will I, and the tiger has undoubtedly focused on me now. I wrap my hands tighter around the handle of my machetes, backing away slowly. And just as I see the creature’s muscles tense, just as I’m sure it will jump and end me, there comes a masculine cry - _"Shiva!"_ \- that has the tigers head turning.

There is a dark-skinned man with thick dreads fighting amidst a group of Saviors, nearly overwhelmed. Without a backwards glance towards Carter or I, the tiger takes off, roaring as it approaches the group.

My legs feel like jello, but I force them to move as I whirl, running towards the last place I saw Negan. There are enemy men closing around me left and right; I slash at some of them, taking them down viciously, their blood splattering, but I cannot catch them all. One manages to slip behind me, and I am certain that I will die as I turn towards his blade – until a bullet embeds itself between his eyes and he falls.

I know in my heart suddenly that is it Kiyah. I glance towards the balconies at the end of each story of the compound, but cannot see her in the dark. But still, I raise a hand in salute, so insanely _proud_ of my sister, who has risen up to the occasion with her sniping skills. And then I run.

I cannot spot Negan anymore; there are bodies littering the ground, some still groaning, some long dead. I fly over each of them, snarling, as I slice left and right. Whenever there is one that Carter and I cannot take care of, one of Kiyah’s bullets finds its way home.

I am passing the doors of the compound when I see it; Alexandrians and Hilltop men streaming inside, guns blazing, the battle making its way indoors. I feel my heart seize, thinking of Kiyah, and falter. I haven’t the slightest clue where Negan is, and I feel as if my heart is torn in two different directions. But I remember Kiyah telling me during our last conversation that while she is skilled with sniping, she is lousy at close combat. 

Feeling a part of me fracture, I dart into the compound. 

My ankle has begun to throb dully from the pain and cold as I careen past fighting pairs, taking out enemies with my knives when I can. I barrel up the stairs, passing the third floor, remembering that Kiyah was on the fourth floor balcony. I am halfway to the next floor when suddenly someone explodes from the upper stories, freezing at the sight of me, much like I have.

It is Jesus.

He is blood-splattered, a black bandanna concealing the lower half of his face as his eyes search mine, gun in hand. My own palms are still wrapped tightly around the handle of my machetes, but I do not move to swing them. 

We stare at each other for a long moment, him and I. Jesus is undoubtedly the only reason that I am alive to this day; he saved me from the brink of death when I was cold and trapped on the bank of a stream, and then again when Gregory meant to conceal me and he was the only one who saw. 

Can I kill him, knowing that? Will he kill me, if I don’t?

I owe him a life debt.

I lower my weapons.

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lowers his gun, and we warily slip around each other on the staircase. If someone else kills him, it will not be my fault; I will not be the one to end his life, when he saved my own. But there is no time to reflect on it now. 

There are bodies and blood on the floors when I vault onto the landing, and my heart pounds deafeningly in my ears as I dart down the hallway. 

The doors to the balcony are wide open, and I hear scuffling, cursing, shouting. My heart leaps into my throat as I slip through the doorway, my eyes moving swiftly across the scene before me. Kiyah is collapsed against the railing, gun gone, temple slowly weeping blood. But the rise and fall of her chest is distinct, proving that she is alive. Caden is there, physically grappling with a burly man who is trying to push him over the railing, the two of them both bleeding heavily but struggling soundly. 

I leap into action without giving anyone on the balcony time to process my arrival. One of my machetes clangs to the ground as I pull my favorite pearl-handled blade from my belt, positioning in between my fingers and hurling it in a split moment. It flies through the air, just as the assailant gains the upper hand and shoves Caden, hard.

The knife embeds itself in the man’s throat. Blood sprays as he sinks to his knees, eyes wide, but I am not looking at him. I am looking at Caden, who is falling, his knees colliding with the railing, his body beginning to slip over. 

I lurch forward with a yelp, his hands wrapping around my arms as my own fist in his shirt. I throw all of my weight into pulling him back, but momentum and the sheer size of him prevail. He falls, and my own feet fly out from under me as I am pulled forward with him.

At the last moment, he realizes it and releases me, trying to save me. But my own fingers are still twisted painfully in the cloth of his shirt, and I cannot unwind them. As Caden slips over the edge of the balcony, I follow, seeing nothing but his wide, panicked gaze and the sky twisting madly around us. My boots briefly find purchase on the railing, gripping, but it is not enough.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I fall.

The ground rushes up to meet us.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo close to being done with school...man, I'm so ready. This chapter is a bit short, but I had to get SOMETHING out for you guys!

  
_I don't want to live a lie that I believe._  
_Time to do or die._  
_I will never forget the moment, the moment._  
_I will never forget the moment._  


Negan’s blood boils in his veins, making him see red.

He’d suspected that something like this would happen eventually, of course. It was only a matter of time before these stupid fucking _fucks_ decided to try to band against him. But he hadn’t expected it so soon, and now the Sanctuary is minus half of their usual manpower thanks to men being sent to outposts. 

Which is exactly what they’d fucking wanted him to do. Negan feels like a fool, and more than anything, it fuels his desire to kill. To destroy. 

The moment he spots Rick, he’s off. He’s armed well with guns now, ripping them from corpses, but he doesn’t want to shoot Rick. No, he wants to make the man suffer, to make him watch as Negan destroys his loved ones before finally bashing his arrogant fucking skull in with Lucille.

Across the confusion-fueled battlefield, they lock eyes. 

“Rick!” Negan roars, his grin feral and dangerous, stretching wide. He feels manic as he prowls forward, swinging Lucille promisingly. “You goddamn idiot. You’re a bigger dumbass than I thought you were.”

He doesn’t give the idiot a chance to reply; Lucille soars through the air, missing Rick’s head narrowly as the man dances backwards, brandishing a hatchet and a knife. His familiar Python remains sheathed in its holster, taken from whichever of Negan's men claimed it and likely out of bullets.

“We can find a way to make this work,” Rick growls, dodging another blow. “We can work out an agreement between all four communities.”

Negan’s rage spikes, his grin a snarl now. “You bust through _my_ gates, kill _my_ men, and think I’ll just fucking bow down and make deals? Oh, Rick.” Another swing; this time it clips Rick’s shoulder, and he grunts as blood blooms, but does not drop his hatchet. “You dumbasses barely have enough ammo to come close to saving your own asses. Did you think I’d send more men to the outposts? Leave the Sanctuary completely undefended? Ha-fucking- _ha_.”

Rick’s hatchet catches his arm; the gash is considerable, he thinks, but certainly not fatal. The blood that slips down his arm and pools only makes him fiercer. He does not feel pain – not in that moment, with adrenaline rushing through him. “I’m going to make each and every one of you fuckers pay,” Negan vows. They’re coming close to the fence now; he’ll back Rick up against it and make the son of a bitch wish he’d died long ago. “I’ll take good care of Judith for you.”

It was meant to be a barb, and it works; Negan watches as Rick’s face clouds, and then the man bursts forward in a flurry of movement, hatchet and knife flying, meeting Lucille again and again. Each chip to his beautiful bat only infuriates Negan further, and along with the knowledge that he needs to find Mazia, it is enough to make him just as determined. 

The two men exhaust themselves, occasionally earning a minor victory with superficial wounds. But then Rick stumbles, and Negan lifts Lucille with a triumphant grin, muscles tensing in preparation to end the man before him.

There is a bone-rattling explosion that makes him stumble, billows of smoke pouring forth from the truck that was smashed into the side of the Sanctuary. It claws at his throat, stings his eyes, making him cough and stagger. And when the smoke clears enough for him to see through the fog, Rick is gone.

“Coward!” Negan roars, his voice so loud that it splinters and crack as he whirls and smashes Lucille into a young woman from the Kingdom who is attempting to dart past him. Lucille is coated with blood and gore as he stomps towards the compound, planning to find Rick, to find Ezekiel, to kill every-fucking-one who orchestrated this.

But a raw, primal scream stops him in his tracks.

The battle seems to pause as multiple pairs of eyes turn towards a balcony of the Sanctuary. 

His heart seizes.

There are two bodies free-falling, limbs splayed, nothing below to catch them. There is a long curtain of ebony hair, hair that Negan has spent the last few weeks running his fingers through, caressing. A flash of telltale boots, the lilac sweater she’d pulled on in her haste, the dark pants. 

There is no possible way for him to reach her in time – nothing he could do even if he did. So Negan watches with a sickening, crippling feeling of dread as the body of the person who fell with her hits the ground agonizingly hard, Mazia’s body landing atop his a moment later.

All of a sudden, time is moving too swiftly, and he’s in motion. It feels as if his feet are too slow, too clumsy, and Negan spits out a string of panicked curses. If he loses her now, loses her because of _Rick…_

His knees collide painfully with the ground as he kneels beside the pair; the man she’d fallen with is Caden, he realizes dimly, but that does not matter in that moment. Nothing does but Mazia.

“Maz. Mazia, fucking talk to me, look at me, god.” He’s babbling like a crazed man, though no one notices; movement is exploding around him again, people fighting, Simon attempting to hold off anyone who tries to approach Negan. 

There’s a moment where nothing happens, and then Negan breathes a loud sigh of relief as Mazia moves, shifting and rolling off of Caden with a gasp. She’s sucking in air desperately as his hands move across her body, checking for wounds. He sees no blood, no obvious broken bones, but that doesn’t mean there’s not something wrong inside of her.

“Does anything hurt? Baby, talk to me. _Mazia._ "

But she’s not looking at him. She’s staring at Caden, her breathing ragged and swift now, practically hyperventilating. At last Negan lets himself study the other man, seeing what Mazia sees. Caden is unmoving, eyes open, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.

Mazia had landed squarely atop him. His fall had broken hers; his life had spared her own. Frankly, Negan’s just glad that she’s alive and in one piece. But he knows that the man was Mazia’s first friend at the compound. It had once filled him with jealousy, but now he is only exhausted and completely _pissed_. And Mazia…

She stands suddenly, spine rigid, eyes flashing with malice. Before he can reach for her, she’s whirling, blades flashing, and Negan feels blood splatter against his back. He whirls to see that one of Rick’s group had slipped past Simon, the fierce, smart-mouthed woman – Rosita. She’s on the ground now, throat slit, dying.

Mazia is already moving, slicing those that oppose her with vicious, lethal grace. He feels like a boy scrambling in her wake as he flanks her, swinging Lucille, letting his anger flow through him. Something has broken within Mazia, and she is a tempest, a hurricane. Though a part of him feels guilty about it, he is in awe of her, completely impressed and more than a little turned on.

Another of Rick’s men goes down, felled by his wrathful queen – Travis or Tobin or something fucking like that. And Negan is right beside her, bashing in the skull of a familiar Hilltop men, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

“Retreat!” roars the telltale voice of Ezekiel in the distance, and the battered group begins to bleed back through the gates, assaulted by the Saviors the entire time. The stragglers who do not run quickly enough are swiftly slaughtered, until there is nothing but Saviors and felled bodies remaining.

There is much to be done. He needs to see to the gates, get rid of the dead, figure out how many they lost. He needs to prepare, to retaliate, to make these fuckers pay for the chaos they have wrought. 

But first…

He reaches for Mazia, who is frozen beside him, breathing hard. She whirls at his touch as if she will attack him, and then pauses, blank eyes searching his face. Whatever she finds there must be enough; her expression crumples and she collapses into his embrace.

Her sobs seem to pulse through Negan as he holds her. He will not forget the way his heart clenches at her sorrow; he will remember it when they strike back at the three communities who dared cross him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hel-llllo lovely readers! Can I just say I know I'm the worst for the wait, and I am so sorry! I had some stuff happen - namely a forced withdrawl from anxiety/depression meds via my oh-so-lovely doctor, and a hospital stay for my second bout of pancreatitis - but I am back, if not a little rusty, and so ready to get back into the _swing_ of things! ;)
> 
> Also, pssst. If anyone is interested in my tumblr, I've JUST made a new one [here](https://melodicdolls.tumblr.com/), where I'll post updates, inspirations, and lots of Negan!

  
_'Cause I know how it feels when you are low_  
_You hold me down when you are hurt_  
_I watch you fade away_  
_But you see what I hold inside of me_  
_You hurt yourself in spite of me_  
_And then you say my name_  


For a blessed moment, there is no recollection of the past few days when I awaken.

It doesn't take long for the memories to rush back. My knives flashing. Caden falling. The grotesque angle of his neck as I landed upon him. His glassy, unseeing eyes still haunt my nightmares. 

I'd broken several ribs during the fall, but was lucky enough to suffer only minimal damage otherwise. Carson gave me pills for the pain, but I will not take them. The sting of pain from my ribcage grounds me, reminds me to never forget. 

It has been two days now since the attack. The gates have been repaired, each man on guard duty that night questioned, the injured treated to the best of Carson's ability. 

Negan has spent his nights with me wrapped in his arms, comforting me as best as he can. Sometimes, I lose myself to the feel of him, the sweeping pleasure when we make love, the contentment I feel at hearing his creative swears and rumbling laugh. Other times, I fall apart in his arms as the grief and hatred for the groups responsible overwhelm me. 

Caden was my friend. I remember the way he always snuck bits of food for Carter, how he was so very quick to smile, how he remained by my side even when I became entangled with Negan. 

The memories make me wince; I cannot dwell on them now. Pushing myself from beneath the blankets, I roll from the bed, ignoring the ache from my ribs. 

Beyond the closed door, I hear a murmur of deep voices, signifying that Negan is speaking with someone in his office. I'm quick to tug on a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt, my newly favorite olive green army jacket and boots following. I finish with gloves, a beanie, and my weapons, before pulling my hair into a neat, severe ponytail, the tip brushing the middle of my back. A quick glance in the mirror reveals a hard, ruthless girl with sharp jaw lines and glittering amber eyes like ice - not fire. Inside, I feel the opposite. 

Still, I take a deep breath and approach the door, pausing to listen. “…were unprepared. I mean, shit, we expected them to pull something like that eventually, but not with every fucking colony in a hundred mile radius in the dead of night.” It’s Simon’s voice, the frustration clear. “We need to strike back. Squash it before they can hit us again. Hit fast, and hit hard.”

“Just what I like to hear,” comes Negan’s slow drawl, somehow managing to turn my insides to liquid even through a wall. The memories of him comforting me are precious, though I know it is the ruthless, cold leader I’ll find on the other side of the door when I open it, and not the man who is revealed to me during late nights. “Send word to the compounds. All of them. We won’t be able to go now – still too much fucking shit to fix here, we need an accurate count on weapons and able bodies. And we need to find somewhere safe to keep M-“ 

My hand flies out before I can stop it, palm slapping against the door, which certainly isn’t hesitant to fling forward. I can only imagine that my expression is something akin to murderous as I stare at the two men seated behind the desk, Negan with his feet propped up, Simon fidgeting with his mustache. Both startle and glance in my direction, and though Simon looks perhaps a fraction guilty, Negan leans back in his chair and gives me a long, slow smile.

“Speak of the devil. I was beginning to think you’d sleep all day, kitten.”

“Finish the sentence,” I demand. 

“Mazia, baby, now _really_ isn’t the time to – “

“No. You were talking about me. Send me where? Finish the sentence.”

“I just think,” Negan says slowly, through gritted teeth, his gaze flicking to Simon in clear warning. I’ve never dared question him in front of others before, but I feel…reckless. Beyond bold. “that with your ankle, and your ribs, it would be best if you kept low for a while.”

“I’m going to start working with the lessons group for hand-to-hand combat. It’s great that I can sneak up close with a knife or machete, and I know a bit about simple fighting, but I’d like to know more in case I’m disarmed. Kiyah needs more work – she’s not participating in this little war. And – “

Before I can say another word, Negan’s chair thunders to the floor as he lurches to his feet, palms slamming down on the desk so hard that his cup of water goes tumbling over. Simon grimaces, but without being dismissed, can do little aside from watch the carnage unfold.

“You are damn lucky that I need _every. single. one._ of my capable men and women for this, because otherwise I’d fucking lock your ass in a cell and make you wait it out in there. You know what, sweetheart? You’re fucking right. You should fight. And I know I’ll never hear the goddamn end of it if I don’t let you. So you, _and_ your sister, and whoever the fuck else can stand on two legs and aim, will be there. Take whatever lessons you need, but you better make it goddamn quick, because we don’t have _time for this_.”

He’s prowled closer with each step, until he’s towering over me, reminding me of how very small I am in comparison to him. He’s all hard, primal rage, my face level with his chest, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on the top of my head, silently demanding that I look up at him. 

I don’t. I know what I’ll see, and it will only make me weak. Right now, I’m a confusing jumble of anger, intimidation, and some strange form of anticipation woven beneath it all, my body hungering for something my mind is stubbornly against at the moment. But then the cool leather of his glove grasps my chin firmly, forcibly tilting my head up. My gaze flickers up, meeting his, and in his smoldering hazel eyes I see…Negan. The Leader of the Saviors. Hard, cold, unflinching. But there’s the familiar part of him lingering far beneath it all, and a darkness that suggests I’ll pay deliciously for my defiance later. 

“Do not put one more toe out of line. Do not push the boundaries any further, because you are at your fucking limit, and that face is far too fuckin’ pretty for the iron. Do you understand me?” he asks. 

I know the iron is a bluff for Simon, though an unnecessary one. I’ve long suspected that Simon knows Negan’s not quite as harsh when it comes to me. But wisely the man stays quiet, gaze down, swirling his water in his glass as silence settles over the room. The entire time, Negan holds me in his grasp and stares, the heat from his hand beneath the buttery texture of the glove urging me to give in.

I want to argue. I want to beg for him to keep Kiyah here, because I cannot lose someone else when I’ve already lost Caden. Especially not my sister – my heart lurches in violent protest at the very idea. But now is not the time; I can see it clearly in his posture, in the steel of his broad shoulders, the set of his defined jaw. So I murmur, “Yes.”

And though I know it’s not his fault that he has to make these calls; it’s what he’s always had to do. But still, the word comes out harder than I’d anticipated, the ice to thaw his fire. Memories of Caden are still fresh: the little dimple when he smiled, the bits of grass stuck in his hair when he’d childishly wrestle with Carter, the sympathetic set of his shoulders when he listened to my complaints. 

The fear in his eyes when he realized he was falling – the sheer _terror_ when he realized he was pulling me with him. The feel of the air whooshing from my lungs when I landed atop him. The sharp, unnatural angle of his neck.

It is not easy to lose a friend. I know that it’s inevitable, in this fucked up world. But the knowledge has not lessened the blow. My ribs bite out a protest, a reminder.

I step back before Negan can say anything else, whirling, my ponytail snapping behind me. I whistle, the sound shrill and abrupt, and Carter falls in line beside me as I stride from the room. 

I swear that I can feel Negan’s gaze burning between my shoulder blades as I slip from the room.

\- - -

“Again.”

My palms flash, aiming for a nose, an eye if I’m unlucky, my body twisting as a moment later I dance away, leaving only a vicious kick in my wake. My boots connect with a knee, hard, and my opponent goes down. But not before strong biceps wrap around my waist, squeezing. I’m suddenly lifted from the ground, feet flailing uselessly. My elbow comes around to smash into his temple, but a moment later my body hits the ground, my ribs screaming, the breath whooshing from me in a harsh rasp.

No respite. A fist collides with my nose, slightly off-center – on purpose. No breaks, but blood still sprays, washing down across my lips and trickling across my tongue in rivulets.

No breath to curse. I twist, but he’s already on top of me, knees on my arms, his fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. The feel of skin against mine is intense, repulsive, and it makes my heart surge into panic. But I force myself to think rationally, to remember all that I’ve learned in these last few days, to wriggle my left arm slowly. The earth grinds against the bones in my shoulder, protesting, but I’m running out of air and I don’t have time to waste

Bit by bit, as my vision begins to go dark, I free my arm. Automatically my hand swings up, my fingers finding the flesh of his face, stopping inches from his eye socket. For a moment, neither of us move, but his grip softens and I suck in breaths of air. When at last Jed rolls away from me, I lurch into a seated position, resting my elbows on my knees, focusing on air filtering through my lungs.

Sweat trickles down my spine, just as the blood creeps down onto my shirt. 

“Damn good job,” Jed says, and I glance up at him, watching as he grimaces and prods at his midsection where my boot connected. “You’re small – it will give you a disadvantage in fights with larger opponents, but you’re quicker, and you’ll take falls better. Again?”

“Please, no,” Kiyah says as she approaches, grimacing as she tosses me a blessedly cold rag. “It’s painful to watch. I had to put Carter away to stop his frustrated whining.”

“But it’s effective,” I offer, voice thick from the swelling in my nose. It will heal. I gingerly wipe away the blood and lurch to my feet. I’d been training with Jed since Negan had given me the say-so days ago; the rest of my time is spent between sitting in on strategy meetings, patrolling the gates, assisting Kiyah with her training, and trying to ignore the angry screeching of my ribs along from the disapproving frowns from Carson as he wraps my torso in firm, unforgiving bandaging each night.

I haven’t had the heart to face Negan since my outburst with Simon. I know he’s fuming, and I take every opportunity to avoid him, coward that I am. But now, I need time with my sister. There is a chance that this war will take her from me – or I from her. We sleep with our backs to each other each night, fingers entwined atop our bodies, taking what little comfort we can. James has been kind enough to bunk with a friend, allowing us these precious moments.

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” Jed agrees, grinning as he shamelessly flaunts his sweat-coated torso. He’s young, perhaps late twenties, and ex-military courtesy of the outbreak. And, more importantly, he’s damn good at hand-to-hand combat. Already I’ve learned so much from him. “But your sister is doing well. She knows more than most people do – unless she happens to run into another devilishly handsome, devastatingly skilled ex-serviceman like yours truly.”

“Your humility astounds me,” I remark sarcastically, earning a wide grin before he saunters off to find more entertaining things – likely beating the snot out of someone else. “I swear, he never gets tired.”

“Well,” Kiyah says under her breath, kneeling down beside me and taking the cloth to wipe at specks of blood I missed. “I’d be careful. I think he’s earned Negan’s ire.”

I glance up, surprised that I hadn’t – well, _felt_ him. It’s hard to miss the presence of a man like Negan. But there he stands across the compound, with Dwight seemingly reporting to him. It’s clear he’s not listening – his burning gaze pins me in place from across the yard, and I can sense his fury from where I sit.

“He’s just mad that I’m…”

“Ignoring him?”

“I’m not ignoring him. There’s just…a lot going on in my head, since the attack. And besides, he can’t get upset with Jed training me. Jed’s the best in the yard. It’s not my fault he’s…” I trail off, sighing as I spot Jed, who has chosen that exact moment to suggestively flex at a laughing washwoman folding clothes. 

“He’s certainly not helping your case,” Kiyah giggles, her laughter only intensifying as I swat at her. Bad move. Swift as a cat, she rolls the hand towel she holds into a weapon of mass pain, swatting it hard at my arm with a snap.

“Ow! Kiyah!” And just like that we’re children again, me trying to wrestle the towel away from her, she laughing as she continues to smack my vulnerable skin. When I look up again, Negan is gone.

\- - -

It doesn’t take him long to find me. I’m making my way back to Kiyah’s rooms after dinner, humming a quiet tune under my breath as I run my fingers through my loose hair. Just as I turn a corner, I very nearly collide with a towering form, and I take a single step backwards before he descends upon me like some bearded vulture.

His arms are pinning me too fast for me to comprehend, his body flush against mine, the harsh concrete of the wall at my back. A million defensive maneuvers from my time with Jed flash through my head, but as I catch a glimpse of those devilish eyes, they immediately turn to mush.

“You’ve been very, _very_ bad, Mazia,” he growls in that damned _voice_ of his, a growl that sends a shiver down my spine. I’m painfully aware of the feeling of him against me, the way my body reacts, my nipples stiffening through my shirt. And judging by the slow, dangerous smile that spreads across his lips, he knows it. Bastard. “You’ve been avoiding me. I mean, I know Jed is _so_ irresistible with that obnoxious flexing of his, but c’mon, you can’t have forgotten me already?”

“Jed is my instructor. That’s it.” Damn him, but my voice sounds so much weaker than I’d wanted. I’m tempted to tell Carter to give him a good nip in the ass – if only I hadn’t left him in the cafeteria with Kiyah. But now I’m thinking about Negan’s ass, and that’s a dangerous path to follow. Too tempting to wrap my legs around that narrow waist and…

 _No._

“So then why the cold shoulder? I _really_ don’t like it, kitten.”

“I just…I needed to spend time with Kiyah. Because there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to when the smoke clears and this is all over.”

“And what about me? Shit, baby, I know I’m one hell of a guy, but I can’t survive everything.”

“Don’t.” My voice rings out sharply, echoing. He backs away just a fraction, peppered eyebrows arching in surprise as he stares down at me. “Don’t say anything about losing you, too.”

Because that’s what it’s been, all of the avoidance. I pouted and snapped and pretended like I was upset with him ordering me around, but when it comes down to it, I’ve been terrified of what the hefty costs of a war with the other communities may mean. And to lose Negan, when I’ve fallen so completely and unquestionably in love with him, is not an option I’m willing to consider. It’s why I need to go; why I need to train and be prepared. 

I will not let anyone touch him.

“You’re fucking _worried_ about me, is that it?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Don’t tell me it’s stupid to be. I can’t help it. I know you’re the big bad wolf around here, but when it comes down to it, you can kill a wolf with a bullet, and I’m not willing – “

He silences me as he leans down swiftly, capturing my lips with his. The kiss is slow, the heat languidly building between us, familiar and comfortable. My arms wrap around his neck before I can stop them, and he pulls me to him; all I can feel is _Negan_.

When he finally pulls away, lips slightly swollen and pupils wide, his expression is serious. “You’ve been a pain in my ass these last few days. If you were anyone - _anyone_ \- else, I would kick your ass to the curb, no questions. But I fucking get it. I don’t like you going into this anymore that you like me, or Kiyah, or anyone else doing the same. You think I don’t feel goddamn furious over that boy? You think I don’t remember every fucking day that his death saved your life? I fucking do. And now this needs to end, because I will _not_ stand back and let fucking Rick Grimes take everything from me. Especially not you.”

Tears threaten, burning pitifully as I glance down – or try to. He lifts my chin gently, his bare fingers swiping at them when they do fall, and then suddenly I’m being lifted. It’s as if I’m weightless, cradled there against his chest, as if all of the worries of the world have fled and there is nothing but us. I lean my head against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of leather and soap and _Negan_.

“You’re sleeping with me again from now on,” he proclaims almost cheerfully, his arms curling tighter around me. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten the way you acted in front of Simon. I think I owe someone a little spanking.”

Despite my emotions warring with exhaustion, I can’t help but quip, “little? Is _anything_ little with you?”

His laughter booms, echoing around us as we reach the stairs. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re about to find out.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’d like to point out that I’m taking an entirely non-canon route for All Out War. :) 
> 
> From Negan's POV, and it turned out surprisingly much longer than I'd anticipated - I usually write short chapters for him. [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GznlD5jTqY) is the song I listened to on endless repeat for this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

  
_There’s nothing that needs to be said_   
_We can pretend_   
_We’ll sandblast these walls_   
_And paint them again_   
_There’s nothing else for us_   
_When everything comes to an end_   
_We can pretend_   


It’s time.

He dresses as he always does, but something about this time feels…different. He slides on his jacket slowly, feeling the way it stretches slightly over his shoulders, the _snick_ of it zipping like music to his ears. His sole glove he pulls on reverently, the leather sliding like butter over his skin, flexing beautifully when he bends to lace up his boots. 

He straightens then, feeling his muscles bunch and relax, as if in anticipation. And goddamn, why wouldn’t he be excited? Another man in his position might be nervous, but not Negan. He’s furious for what the other communities dare to try, furious that they’ve challenged him, that they’ve killed so many of his own and made Mazia hurt. She’d called him “the big bad wolf”, and hell, if he doesn't feel like it. He will protect his pack; he will rip the throats from those who threaten them and piss triumphantly on their corpses.

But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t prepared for the consequences. He’d spent all night with Mazia, fucking _worshiping_ her, exploring her as thoroughly as if he hadn’t done so a thousand times already. He’d made sure to remember how fucking good it felt to see those long legs wrap around his waist, her dark hair spread across the pillows like some corrupted halo. And he’d also made sure to remember those sweet fucking noises she made, the sound of his name on her lips as she came for him over and over through the night, until at last he’d been forced to make himself sleep so that they wouldn’t resemble biters the next morning. 

It isn’t just fucking her that he wants to remember – though it’s a nice perk. He’d watched her that morning when she’d risen from bed, grim-faced and silent, the light of the pale gray dawn framed behind her in the window frame. He’d let his eyes trace the shape of her lips, remembering how they parted to reveal a flash of teeth when she smiled. He closed his eyes and thought of her laugh when no one else was around, loud and wild and free. He thought of how his heart fucking stuttered when she told him that she loved him. It still amazes Negan, to think that after all he’d done, after how he’d royally fucked things up with Lucille and then descended into near madness in the years after, that someone as pure and _good_ as Mazia loves him. But she tells him every day, as if she knows he needs to hear it, though he’ll never admit it.

And so as Negan strides from the room into his office, he holds all of these things tucked carefully behind his steel-clad heart. These are the things he will remember when he’s swinging Lucille like a fucking champion, bashing in brains left and right. Mazia, Simon, the men who have been loyal to him from the start, the women who have built a life under his careful watch, the children who thrive in the Sanctuary. People have a habit of thinking Negan does everything for himself, but he fucking doesn’t – he does it for his people.

Mazia is standing beside the cold fireplace, arms crossed over her chest, a faraway look in her eyes. She’s dressed head-to-toe in black, from her beloved boots to her form-fitting jeans, her dark sweater clinging to her curves in a way that makes him want to drag her back into the bedroom. But there’s something dark about the mass of weapons strapped to her form, her severe bun, the dark gloves covering her fingers, and the black bandana hanging around her neck, ready to be pulled partially over her face. She looks like a goddamn storm in the moments before it unfurls, and Negan’s never been a fucking poet but she makes him want to be.

Carter glances up as Negan approaches, tongue lolling, reminding him of the little surprise he’d managed to scrounge up for Mazia – or, rather, that Simon had found on a run and offered to Negan to give.

He slides his arms around her as he approaches, breathing in the smell of her soap as she leans back into his frame. She seems so small, so fragile, and he feels a pang of panic penetrate the anticipation. He knows she won’t fucking listen to him if he tells her to stay behind, but he wants to anyways. Still, he manages to push the urge away and instead asks, “Ready?”

She nods in response, and he places a quick kiss to the nape of her neck before he releases her and strides to his desk, where Lucille lays across the marred mahogany. He’d made sure the beloved bat was clean as a whistle, not a speck of blood marring the barbed wire – though that will soon change. His gloved hand wraps firmly around the handle, Lucille swinging up to rest on his shoulder, the weight familiar. He’s loaded down with guns and knives, too, of course – he’s not a fucking idiot. But there’s no way in hell he’d miss out on bashing in a few skulls with his signature gal.

Well, _one_ of his signature gals.

His boots thump noisily against the floor when he strides from the room, like the pounding of war drums as he moves down the hall. Mazia’s steps are a stark contrast – aside from the occasional whisper of a clothed heel against carpet, she’s silent. Together they descend the stairs and stride from the compound into the courtyard, where surprisingly, everything is in perfect order.

Every working truck, jeep, and car is waiting, lined up at the gate. The last of the men and women accompanying them are piling into the vehicles, with the exception of a group at the front by Negan’s favorite matte black Jeep. Simon is the first to notice Negan’s approach; he bows, and the others still outside of the cars follow. When everyone is standing again, Negan asks, “Everything in order?”

“Yep,” Simon drawls. “The group we’re leaving behind to watch the elderly and the children are all well-armed; even after we took the majority of the weapons and ammo, there’s still plenty for them to hold the fort with. Dwight’s driving the second truck with Jed and the rocket launcher – damn good thing we took it from Alexandria before it was too fucking late. Dwight’s gonna veer off to the eastern compound and leave Jed there with the launcher and a quarter of the men to watch out for Hilltop. We’ll go on to the next compound, keep half of who we have left with us, and send the other half on to the next.”

“Perfect. Did Jed get that fucking vest fixed?”

“Yep. Looks rough as shit, but he fixed the bullet holes. Should hold up.” He can feel Mazia’s questioning gaze as Simon opens the driver’s door of the Jeep, leaning over to snag something from the passenger’s side. Negan only flashes her a triumphant grin in reply as from within the car, Simon extracts a patched bullet-proof vest, the word “SHERIFF” fraying on one side. She holds it up incredulously as Simon passes it to her, her eyes widening a fraction.

“We had Jed fix it up for Carter. Found it on a run,” Negan says gruffly, though he can’t help the chuckle of amusement as she regards the k-9 vest as if it were a brick of pure gold. He knows how much the damn mutt means to her, and besides, he’s seen Carter in action; the dog won’t let anything happen to Mazia as long as he’s breathing, and a bullet-proof vest can only help. He watches as she kneels to strap Carter into the vest, cinching it tight before standing and observing. He can only hope Jed’s repair job is as thorough as the over-muscled fuck claimed.

“Thank you,” Mazia says, and in her gaze he sees how much it really means to her. He wants to yank her against his chest and _really_ give her something to thank him for, but there’s no time. The pale glow of the sun is beginning to peak over the horizon; soon the pale gray skies will be chased away. He only wishes it would take the fucking cold with it.

“Let’s go,” he says, steely voice ringing across the hushed courtyard. Simon climbs into the driver’s seat, and Negan circles around to swing into the passenger’s. Mazia and Carter slide into the back, and then there’s a moment of silence before Kiyah slides in beside her sister, grinning like they’re not going to war. 

“There you are,” Mazia says, clearly relieved that Kiyah will be with them. Negan had made sure of it.

The gates slide open and then they’re moving at last, the rumble of the caravan following behind them the only noise penetrating the silence of the Jeep.

\----

Dwight and a quarter of the vehicles veer off without trouble half an hour into the journey. 

From the passenger seat of the Jeep, Negan watches as the sun slowly crawls higher in the sky, running his fingers idly along the barrel of the sleek AK-12 nestled between his knees. A glance in the rearview mirror reveals Kiyah fast asleep, her head on Mazia’s shoulder, the sisters hands clasped firmly between them. And there’s a set to Mazia’s jaw that promises hell for anyone who tries to rip them apart.

It’s a shame, then, that they don’t make it to the outpost without incident. 

Somehow, someway, the communities have discovered that the Saviors are on the move. There is no warning before the sharp staccato of bullets shatters the calm when they are a mere ten minutes from the outpost. A string of curses fly from Negan’s mouth as the Jeep jerks sharply before Simon rights them; two trucks fall into place on either side of them, shielding the Jeep from the hidden assailants. The engine roars as Simon’s boot assaults the gas pedal, but a moment later they come to a screeching halt, a line of unfamiliar cars blocking the road ahead of them. Negan’s neck aches in protest as he slides low in the seat, yanking the rifle up to his shoulder. 

It’s useless sandwiched between the two other trucks as they are, and they’re sitting fucking ducks. Simon barks an order for assistance from the compound into a walkie before kicking the door of the driver’s side open, exploding from the Jeep in an explosion of bullets. Gunfire is all around them, confused yells echoing in Negan’s ears as he swivels to snap an order to Mazia – but she’s already out of the car, and he curses as he vaults out after her.

Kiyah is splayed on her stomach partially under the Jeep for cover, picking off men who dart in front of the car with her Barrett. Negan can’t tell which community the bastards firing at them are from, but he doesn’t recognize any Alexandrians – he suspects the Kingdom, judging by the padding one of the men wears. It doesn’t protect his throat from Negan’s bullet regardless.

He uses the surrounding trucks for cover, firing bullets left and right. Several times, the fuckers nearly hit him in retaliation – when a bullet finally grazes his arm, the pain only fuels him, his teeth baring in a snarl that’s a mockery of a grin. He’s reloading when a burly man charges him with a knife, but an ebony blur barrels into him, and Carter’s teeth sinks into the meaty throat of the stranger before the man can even get close. 

A wild laugh escapes him as he slips around the front of the Jeep, pressing his back to the grill, his finger jerking on the trigger of the rifle again and again. To the left he sees Mazia aim a vicious, bare-knuckled punch at the throat of a woman before her knife sinks into the bitch’s skull. She’s a blur as she whirls around a car out of sight, and he can’t help the pride that unfurls in his chest.

In the end, the ambush had to have been concocted by fucking idiots, because when more of Negan’s men bleed through the forest from the compound, the whole ordeal is over in a heartbeat. Bodies of men and women from the Kingdom litter the ground, blood and gore splattered on the pavement of the road. 

“Twelve dead,” Simon reports when the chaos has died down. “Not bad, considering how many of those fuckers we took out.”

“Let’s get to the outpost and see if Dwight’s quarter made it alright,” Negan remarks roughly, climbing back into the Jeep. He’s relieved to find that none of their party suffered major injuries; Kiyah is entirely unscathed, fucking fantastic sniper that she is, and Mazia sports only minor cuts and bruises, much like himself. The car is silent but tense as they maneuver around the road block and continue on to the largest of his outposts.

He’d left Carson behind at the Sanctuary for good measure, but an older woman named Gina oversees the wounded while those who got off lucky shuffle around the concrete halls, settling into rooms. They won’t be at the outpost for long; already half of the men he brought with him are going on the third outpost, and tomorrow he and the entirety of the men with him will march on Alexandria. 

He fully intends to completely, thoroughly, and meticulously give them hell.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this chapter ended up much longer than I expected. Oops!

  
_A warning_   
_To the people_   
_The good, and the evil_   
_This is war_   


If there’s one thing I’ve learned during the last few years, it’s that nothing is certain.

The fact that in a mere matter of hours we’ll assault Alexandria means that I need all of the sleep I can get. And yet when Negan leads me to a room within the compound reserved for his visits, I know that it will be some time yet until I can rest.

Carter settles in front of the locked door immediately, and I stoop to relieve him of his new vest as Negan lights a candle. The room is tiny compared to his lavish quarters at the Sanctuary, with only a bed, a dresser, and a little table. Still, it's larger than the other rooms of the compound, most who sport two tiny beds and a table between them. 

He sighs, the mattress groaning beneath his weight as he collapses onto the bed, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his boots. I move to settle beside him, my hands immediately moving to the wound on his arm where a bullet grazed the skin. It's no longer bleeding, but it's red and angry, marring the otherwise lightly tanned skin. 

We'd received word that Dwight's group had arrived without incident, along with the group sent ahead to the final compound. It makes no sense why the Kingdom decided to ambush us so close to Negan's largest compound, but it's not something I want to dwell on now. Peeling the gloves from my hands, I toss them onto the table, my bandanna following. My boots thump quietly to the floor, and then my body is instinctively curling into Negan's as he wraps his broad arms around me, silently cradling me. 

There are no words that need to be spoken. When I tilt my head back, he's already leaning towards me. Our kiss is slow at first, my lips exploring his patiently as my body seems to melt into his. But then all at once it becomes almost frantic, our breathing heavy, my tongue sliding against his as he yanks me so that I'm straddling him. My arms snake around his neck, my fingers burying in his hair, tugging at the short strands. A low groan rumbles in his chest as his hands find my hips, and he growls a moment later, nipping my bottom lip at the exact moment that he pulls my hips down, his own bucking up to meet mine. I gasp at the feeling of him, intense even through our jeans; he's painfully hard already, and my own reaction is instantaneous, making me desperate to shed clothes. 

As if he's read my mind, Negan pulls away long enough to yank my sweater over my head, his own shirt following. His gaze rakes over me as one hand slides behind my back to deftly unclasp my bra, hungrily drinking me in as if he'll never see me again. And then his lips are on me, his stubble scratching faintly at my skin as he kisses his way across my collarbone and down to my breasts, his teeth nibbling at one of my nipples, making my breath hitch as my hands slide between us to impatiently unbuckle his belt. 

Our jeans can't come off fast enough, leaving me clad in only a pair of panties, he in his boxers. His fingers ghost down across my thighs, making me shiver as I realize that he never removed his glove; the feel of the leather against my skin makes me mewl, and it takes everything within me to grasp his wrists to stop him. 

"Mazia," he growls, his gruff voice a warning, but I ignore him, splaying one palm against his chest and pressing until he lays back on the mattress. His pupils are huge, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches me tug down his boxers and straddle him, his breath hissing out from between clenched teeth as I rub myself against his swollen length, my damp underwear the only thing separating us. He's impatient for me, his cock twitching each time I rub against him, teasing myself as much as I tease him. It feels too good, and I almost lose myself in the sensation of the taunting rocking. But then his hands lift to palm my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, reminding me that I'm not done with him yet. 

I lift myself long enough to slide my underwear over my legs, and then I settle over him, holding myself just out of reach. I can see in his eyes that he's seriously considering flipping me over and ending my little game, so I snake my hand between us, wrapping my fingers around him, making him gasp as I guide him to my entrance. And then slowly, without ever taking my gaze from his, I slide down on top of him, shivering at the sweet ache between my legs as our bodies join at last. 

I can't help the low moan that slips from my throat when he's fully inside of me, a noise echoed by Negan, only serving to drive my aching need higher. For a moment I'm still, letting my body adjust to the size of him, and when I can take it no longer, I begin to move. 

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, his hips bucking to meet mine each time that I slide down against him, the need clear in his eyes. One of his hands raises to tug at my bun, and my ebony hair goes tumbling over my shoulders as I tilt my head back in ecstasy, unable to contain a long, low moan when his other hand, still gloved, slides between us to rub at the sensitive place between my folds. He begins making small, rapid circles with his fingers, the slick leather driving me wild as my hips began to move quicker, my sighs of pleasure growing louder by the moment. 

And the entire time, we never take our eyes off of each other. The way his lips curl into a cocky smirk as I begin to shake makes me pant out a soft " _bastard_ ", his breathy laugh pitched low with desire. 

"You fucking started this, sweetheart," he practically purrs, his fingers moving faster as his free hand moves to grip my hips hard, stilling my movements. I begin to protest, but the words die on my lips as he begins to drive his hips up relentlessly, sliding in and out of me at a pace that leaves me breathless. I can't help it - my eyes flit closed, but the moment they do he stops, and I gasp with disappointment. 

"Look at me," he demands, and the moment I do, he begins driving into me again, his thrusts hard and relentless, his fingers working vigorously. The pressure building between my thighs is too much, and each time I nearly come undone he stops, until I'm panting and groaning with frustration above him. The gleam in his eyes makes it clear he hasn't forgotten my earlier teasing, and I'm paying for it tenfold now as his thrusts slow to long, deep strokes. 

"Negan," I whine, trying to move my hips, but his grip is firm, sure to leave bruises the next day. 

"What do you want, baby?"

"You know," I grind out, barely coherent as he moves within me, never letting me get close enough to finish. 

"I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you fucking beg."

And I do; shamelessly I stare into his smoldering gaze, panting out a desperate, "please make me come for you."

It's the _for you_ that does it, as I knew it would. Both of his hands curl around my hips to hold me in place, the force of his thrusts sudden, his rhythm never faltering as he drives into me. In mere moments I'm reduced to a moaning mess, and a distant part of my mind acknowledges that those in the rooms near ours can probably hear me. But I'm beyond caring as the pressure reaches an unbearable peak, one that I come crashing down from moments later, his name practically a sob of relief on my lips. As I tighten around him, he gives a groan of his own between gritted teeth, his thrusts at last losing their rhythm as he reaches his own release. 

I slump against him, breathing hard as I rest my forehead on his shoulder, my heart thundering in my chest. For a long time we lay there in silence, his arms around me as our breathing slows. When at last he peels himself away to extinguish the candle, I slip beneath the blankets, humming in contentment when he slides beneath the covers behind me, wrapping one arm around my waist. 

"Maz," he murmurs, voice muffled as he nestles his face into the crook of my neck. 

"Mm?"

"I fucking love you." 

Despite the day that looms before us, and the ominous rumble of thunder outside, I smile. 

"I love you, too."

\---

We dress in the same clothes we shed the night before, though I'm glad I'd packed spare, clean underwear in my bag. 

Negan is in his element as he strides out to address the men and women gathered at the compound, each of them grim-faced and armed, determination clear in their demeanor. He is sleek and predatory, hair slicked perfectly, beard neatly trimmed, Lucille clean and ominous where she rests perched on his shoulder. 

The rain pours down in sheets, making the bitter winter air more miserable, if possible. But still, the Saviors stand ready and waiting as Negan stands before them, rivulets of water sliding down the slick leather of his jacket. 

Kiyah stands on one side of me, Simon on the other, Carter at my heels. Behind me is Bryan from the small community Dwight and I recruited; to his left is Allan. James stands to Kiyah's left, the pairs hands clasped. So many familiar faces; so many friends. 

Negan doesn't say much, for once. His gaze slides across those gathered, steely and laced with anticipation. "I don't need to remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that this is fucking war. I know that none of you asked for this; well neither the fuck did I, but here it is. Taking down Alexandria isn’t going to be a goddamn cake walk, so I hope you’re all ready. I know not all of you are used to this shit – hell, a lot of you are from the kitchen, or construction, or laundry. You’re not used to fighting for your life; Ii get it. But you better buck up real fucking quick, because we don’t have time to be caught with our dicks out again.”

“So eloquent,” Kiyah murmurs under her breath; despite the seriousness of the situation, it’s hard for me to stifle a laugh. Negan sees, and he flashes a wide, familiar grin. 

“No complaints? Good, let’s get fucking moving.” 

The group disperses, heading for the vehicles, wiping rain from their eyes. At least the snow melted days ago, but it has left behind a miserable mess of sludge and muck that the rain certainly doesn’t help. I slide into the back of Negan’s Jeep, pleasantly surprised when he offers the passenger seat to Kiyah in favor of settling in beside me, his arm snaking around my shoulder, pulling me against him. Carter is drenched, looking faintly disgruntled in his wet vest on the other side of me. One of my hands reaches to scratch behind his ear, the other hand resting on one of Negan’s bouncing knees as Simon climbs behind the wheel, the Jeep roaring to life.

A massive, rumbling truck leads the little caravan this time, followed by another truck of equal prowess, and then our Jeep. Thunder rolls ominously above us, the windshield wipers working overtime to keep the road in sight. Simon seems undisturbed by the weather, humming to fill the silence as he drives. Occasionally Kiyah speaks up to inquire after some man-made landmark or another, and Simon spends several moments explaining to her the landmarks purposes for mapping out routes for the Saviors. 

Negan is silent the entire ride, his head turned, his gaze distant as he stares out of the window. His fingers play idly with the charms of my silver bracelet, tracing the little ballet slippers, the figure of a ballerina, the shape of a heart, a paw print, a pair of hands entwined. Charm after charm that my mother gave to me on each birthday, their weight familiar and comfortable. 

Lightening illuminates the sky, blinding but brief, the bolt touching down somewhere far on the horizon. My clothes are just beginning to dry when we pass a rotting wooden sign with a splash of crimson paint splattered across it, and Simon says, “Ten minutes.”

My heart thunders into a gallop; I turn my face into Negan’s chest, the leather cool against my cheek, committing the feeling of his rising and falling chest, his own drumming heartbeat, to memory. He turns his head, and a gloved finger presses against my chin, making me tilt my face upwards. Our lips meet, the kiss brief but bursting with emotion, with promise. Promise that it will not be the last, either though neither of us can guarantee that.

Ahead of us, the roar of the two trucks accelerating thunders, and I glance to Simon, who’s face is set in grim determination as the Jeep follows, speeding on the tail of the gray truck directly ahead of us. The gates of Alexandria loom, but the trucks do not slow, and neither do we. Instead we gain speed, and I spot figures atop the entryway scattering. There is a moment where time seems to slow, where Negan’s arm tightens around me to hold me in place as the first of the trucks collides with the gate, the roar of the engine and the screech of metal yielding punctuated by a bolt of lightning. 

The gates fall, and the first truck is through, followed by the second, which clears away the remaining bits of metal that dangle from the hinges. The Jeep bumps over the wreckage, and then we are within Alexandria, and the sound of rapid gunfire is instant. Simon brings the Jeep to a screeching halt as the rest of the caravan files into the community. 

Saviors burst from the trucks in a shower of bullets, and already Alexandria is beginning to retaliate. I see a flash of blonde hair and a beanie as Jesus goes darting past, narrowly missing being run down by a van, and an earth-shattering roar suggests that Ezekiel and Shiva are present, as well. All of the communities have gathered in Alexandria for this moment, promising that this will be no easy battle. 

I turn to look at Negan, and for a long moment, neither of us move. And then his lips quirk into a familiar cocky grin, his hand sliding for the handle of the door. The moment it’s open he’s sliding out in a whirlwind of leather and lethality, Lucille already swinging, catching an unlucky Alexandrian in passing. Blood splatters my cheeks as I follow, and I pause to tug my bandanna over my mouth and nose, reaching for my gun first. 

I catch a glimpse of Kiyah as she slips beneath the Jeep, setting up her Beretta, her expression determined. I close my heart to the pounding worry; there is no room for it now, not with bullets whizzing past in every direction and enemies darting around every corner. 

I lift my gun and fire. Again, and again, careful to avoid the Saviors, who have all tied subtle maroon bandannas around their left arms for identification. It won’t be long before the other communities pick up on this, but for now, I can fire without worrying that I’ll kill an unfamiliar ally. 

Fighting is not so very different to dancing. My movements are precise, swift, practiced, my feet finding purchase as I slip around corners, my body folding in on itself as I duck around cars for cover. My movements are automatic and instinctual as I aim for enemies at a distance, my left hand wrapped around the pearl handle of my favorite knife, slicing and stabbing at those who venture too close. Before long, my clothes are splattered with blood and gore, my arms and legs stinging with bruises and cuts from grazing bullets. I let the little twinges of pain fuel me, driving me forward, stopping only to reload before slipping into motion again.

Across the confusing chaos of the battlefield, I lock eyes with Daryl. I can hear Negan’s maniacal laughter somewhere to my left, Simon shouting orders behind me, Rick’s voice somewhere in the fray. But none of that matters when the long-haired tracker aims his pistol at me, the sound of the gun firing somehow reaching me above all the others. I dash to the side, jerking as pain explodes in my left arm, blood spraying. Breath hisses through my teeth as I duck into the space between two houses, quickly assessing the damage. It missed bone, thank god, and gentle probing reveals that the bullet moved clean through my arm. The pain is a bitch, but I’ll live, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Daryl is closing in. A peak around the edge of the house confirms it; my own bullet narrowly misses him, and again, a foul curse sliding from my lips as the chamber clicks. 

The fingers of my left hand are slick with blood and rain, my movements clumsy as I try to reload. Before I can manage he barrels around the corner, his own chamber seeming empty as well judging by the way he lunges for me. I scramble backwards and lift my knife, but it’s too late; his heavy body collides with mine, air whooshing from my lungs as we roll in the grass, knife knocked from my wet palm. He’s bigger than me by a significant amount, but he’s no Jed, and I haven’t forgotten the endless hours getting the snot beaten out of me in preparation for this.

I drive my elbow up into his nose, and he grunts as the bone cracks ominously, his blood peppering my bandanna and brow, but he doesn’t relent. He’s got the bottom half of me pinned by his weight, my machetes trapped and useless, and I see his fingers scrabbling for his own knife. Belatedly I wonder where Carter is – he’d darted off into the fray the moment we’d slipped from the Jeep, but I know he can’t be far. I have no breath in my lungs to whistle, so instead I grunt and drive my elbow into his nose again. The pain must be blinding, and he pauses to draw a shocked breath. It’s all I need.

The gun in my other hand is useless without bullets – or is it? I twist beneath him, ignoring the wrenching of my ribs, bringing the barrel up to smash it into his temple as I jerk one of my legs up, worming a knee between us and driving it into his groin. I scramble from beneath him as he topples to the side, conscious but pained, ripping one machete from its scabbard. Our struggle propelled us partially into the street, and I hear a vicious bark signaling Carter’s approach even as I lift the machete, fully prepared to end the man. 

But suddenly there is an earth-shattering explosion, the ground rumbling beneath my feet, screams of pain and terror deafening as I lose my balance and momentum, my machete narrowing missing his throat as he's thrown back. My gaze jerks to the back wall of Alexandria, the walls decimated, fire and smoke billowing as men pile in through the hole. Dwight’s troop has arrived, and I see Jed at the back of the fray, the RPG perched on his muscular shoulder, a wild grin on his face.

Triumph sears through me as I turn back to Daryl, but he’s scrambled to his knees, and he’s not alone. Sasha stands before him now, the barrel of her gun pointed at Carter, who has sunk his teeth into Daryl’s leg. A snarl rips from my throat as I lunge for her at the moment she fires, her gun jerking up as my machete cleaves into her side, the bullet striking Carter’s vest. He jerks but does not release Daryl, dog and man grappling as Sasha falls. 

The smoke from the fire that rages along the walls, untouched even by the rain, billows around us, thickening. I tug my bandanna more snugly over my mouth before descending upon Daryl, but its glaringly clear that fate will not allow him to die so easily as a man with rope-like dreads – Ezekiel – vaults into my path. I barely have time to utter a command for Carter to retreat before the telltale growl behind me signifies that Shiva is close, sending a shiver down my spine. I catch a glimpse of Negan as I turn partially to keep both Ezekiel and Shiva in my line of sight; he and Rick are engaged in a fierce battle with knives, the blades flashing, blood streaming from a cut on Negan’s temple. And then there is Kiyah behind him, struggling with Michonne, who is surely too much for my sister when it comes to hand-to-hand combat.

I have only a moment, only a heartbeat, to send Carter to help her. He whines with distress at leaving me there with Shiva’s eyes on me, but he obeys. And then at the exact same moment, Ezekiel and Shiva move, as if the two are connected in some bizarre way. 

I see the flash of fangs that are nearly as thick as my wrists as four-hundred pounds of livid predator springs towards me. My machetes flash as I bring them up between us, the roar of Simons’ voice the last thing I hear before my spine collides with the earth.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man...the muse is never-ending lately; I'm just churning the chapters out left and right!
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your kudos and comments. It means the world! <3

_I found a home away from home_  
_in your arms_  
_only to find out that sweet escape_  
_was nothing but a cage_  


The handle of my machete pressed against her throat is the only thing keeping Shiva's jaws from closing over my face.

My arms tremble with immediate strain, the bullet wound screaming in protest as I struggle to hold off the massive cat crouched over me, knowing that if I fail, if they give out, I will die. 

One of her massive paws lifts, and blood coats her claws, splashed across her striped leg. Belatedly I realize that it is mine; the rush of adrenaline makes it difficult to pinpoint where immediately, but when I recognize the wound, it sears to life as if were only waiting for me to notice it. My left side just above my hip is shredded and drenched, the pulses of agony signifying that I'm in deep, deep shit. If I can just shift my machete, just slide it down a _bit_ , I'd be able to slit her throat and rid myself of the threat. 

But my hands are drenched in blood and rain still, and I don't trust myself to reposition my grip. My arms are trembling violently, threatening to collapse as a sob of frustration and fear slips from between my clenched teeth. Is this how I'll die - ripped from Negan by the fangs of the beast? I can hear Simon's voice, commanding me to _"hold on, Mazia"_ as he fends off Ezekiel. 

And just when I think I can't anymore, there's an explosion of gunfire and a pained yowl from Shiva. I suck in a desperate breath of air as her weight is lifted from me, the massive cat reeling from the wounds peppering her side. I hear Ezekiel's roar of rage cut short, the sound of footsteps - and then Jed is kneeling over me, his mouth moving but his words reaching me belatedly, as if from a great distance. 

"...Dwight and have him take her back to the Sanctuary," Simon is saying; I hadn't even noticed him crouched on the other side of me until that moment. Behind him, Ezekiel lays unmoving - dead or just unconscious, I cannot tell - by the form of Shiva, who's breathing is labored. Despite her injuries, she's partially hovering over Ezekiel, her pain-filled eyes blazing as she snarls at anyone who draws too close. "Mazia. Look at me."

I do, trying not to cry out as he rips off his jacket and balls it up, pressing it hard against my wounded side. "You're bad fucking luck, you know that?" He's saying, and I have a feeling he's only trying to keep my focus on him by talking. "You step in a fucking trap, you fall from four stories, you tangle with a goddamn tiger. How many lives do you have?"

"Maybe none, after this," I say. It's meant to be a joke, but alarm creases his features as he curses, glancing around. 

"Fuck. We have to get out of the open until Jed finds Dwight. I have to pick you up, and it's gonna hurt like hell, but we gotta move, alright?"

Though I agree, I still can't stop the blackness that presses down upon me as he scoops me into his arms. When I come to again, we're nestled between two houses, my back against one, Simon kneeling in front of me. 

"...to stay awake, Mazia. Negan will gut me if you die on my watch. Where the _fuck_ is Dwight?" 

The rain has lightened but not stopped, and as Simon creeps to the edge of the alley to glance out, I peer up at the sky. How long have we been fighting now? Nearly an hour? Two? Time passed so quickly with a gun in my hand and corpses in my wake. 

"Finally," Simon snaps as Dwight ducks into the alley with us, his gaze sweeping across me in alarm. "Hilltop is sending in more reinforcements. We don't have long before we need to leave and regroup, but you need to take Mazia back to Carson _now_."

"No," I protest, detesting the way my voice slurs. "Negan - "

"- will go absolutely fucking ballistic if you die," Simon finishes for me, beginning to reload the various guns holstered at his belt. "You're going back to the Sanctuary. Now."

At this, he gives Dwight a meaningful look before he's gone, darting back out into the fray. 

"Come on, Maz," Dwight says gently as he stoops to slide one arm beneath my knees and the other under my shoulders. No matter how smoothly he lifts me, the pain is blinding, and blood is swiftly soaking my entire left side. Dwight's half-burned features set into a look of grim determination as he begins to run, holding me tight in an attempt not to jostle me. Still, the pain makes me gasp, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay awake, to focus on his face. 

"Do you remember," I say, "the time you almost dozed off watching the gate, and I pegged you in the head with a snowball?"

A strange, pained expression pulls at the burned skin of his face, and he glances down to meet my gaze briefly before looking away. "Yeah, I do. And you busted your ass on that patch of ice trying to get away from me, afterwards."

"You were furiously trying to stuff snow down the back of my coat."

"You deserved it." He huffs out a laugh, and a brief silence falls, broken by moans of pain and gunfire around us. "Keep talking."

"We're going back home...wait. Kiyah. Carter."

"Kiyah's on a roof giving them hell - don't know how the fuck she got up there. And last I saw, Carter's with Negan. Relax."

I do, glad to hear that my sister is safe, and that Carter is guarding the living, breathing piece of my heart. 

"Keep talking, Mazia."

"About what?"

"Anything. I need to know you're still alive."

It hurts to speak, my breath wheezing out in shallow pants in a useless attempt to relieve some of the pain. I'm beginning to feel lightheaded, too, but still I try. "Do you miss Sherry?"

"Why the fuck would you ask me that?" When I don't answer, he sighs. "No. Yes. Shit, Maz, I don't know."

My head lolls slightly, and I can see the Jeep waiting just ahead, signifying freedom. But at the last moment, Dwight turns down a side street and vaults up the steps of one of the houses. I glance around, wondering if we've been spotted, if we're about to be attacked, but no one is looking at us. 

"Dwight?" I try as he pushes into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. He doesn't say anything as he moves down the hall, maneuvering open a door without putting me down. Stairs stretch down into what looks like a basement, and the jostling movements of our descent momentarily robs me of my vision. 

When I can see again, my confusion multiplies. There's a...a _cell_ constructed in the back corner of the basement, and standing in front of it is Rick. 

He's worse for the wear, with blood coating him, splattering his clothes and streaming from a cut on his right shoulder. Behind him is Michonne, and beside her stands Carl, who blessedly looks as if he's been kept from the battle. A growl to my left has my head turning, but it's only Daryl, propped against the wall with a bandage wrapped tightly around his left shin, wounds courtesy of Carter. 

" _Dwight?_ " I try again, hating how my voice sounds: confused, wounded, pleading. Because I know what this is without needing to piece it together. I remember Jerry, who somehow managed to strike a deal with Rick; I remember the strange breech in the Sanctuary's fence, and Dwight slipping into the armory afterwards. I remember him standing in the door of Negan's office, telling me to be careful. 

I am a lamb in that moment, and Dwight has delivered me for the slaughter. 

He won't look at me as he carefully puts me down, reaching out as if to steady me. I jerk away from him, losing my balance in the process. My knees slam hard into the concrete, the pain nothing in comparison to the yawning cavern of disbelief and treachery unfurling inside of me. 

"Can you at least get her a doctor?" Dwight asks, as if he cares. 

"Would be awfully nice to have Denise right now," Daryl spits, venom in his voice. Despite Dwight's change in allegiance, it seems as if the tracker will not forget the grudge he harbors. 

"Daryl," Rick says, sounding exhausted. There's the sound of footsteps, and then he's kneeling, his face swimming into focus. "Mazia. We're going to have someone help you, but you're going into the cell first."

My laugh is bitter and scathing, tearing from my throat as I glare into his pale blue eyes. "Why not just let me die? No, wait, I know. You're going to use me as a bargaining chip, just like Gregory."

"We don't have a choice."

"Bullshit." I can't even muster anger anymore; not even when Dwight lifts me beneath my arms and moves me into the cell, where I promptly collapse on the little cot within. 

I don't remember losing consciousness, but when I wake, the room is empty save for a single man perched on the other side of the locked cell. My head feels foggy and my thoughts sluggish, though instinctively my hand goes to my side to find it wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. 

"You were out for a good while," the man says. "I stitched you up, gave you some pain medicine. We don't have much, after..."

After Negan took everything. 

"But we had a little to spare," he continues. "I'm no doctor, but those stitches should hold you over until Doctor Carson gets here from Hilltop."

I say nothing, staring up at the concrete ceiling. How long have I been unconscious? Where is Dwight? Where is Negan?

"My name is Morgan. Rick wants me to keep an eye on you, while you're here."

"How long?"

"Will you be here?"

"No - have I been asleep?"

"Almost a full day now."

"And the others? The Saviors?"

"They retreated not long after you were brought in. They're still fighting groups from the Kingdom and Hilltop at one of their compounds," he tells me, his voice surprisingly gentle. When my gaze flicks up to meet his, he says, "Negan is still alive. He doesn't know we have you."

He doesn't have to tell me this. He doesn't have to tell me _anything_ , and yet it seems as if he's trying to...comfort me. 

"What is Rick going to do with me?"

"I don't know. Bargain for surrender, I'd guess."

I'd figured as much. A long moment passes before at last I try to sit up, wincing in pain and ignoring Morgan's soft "take it easy". There's not much in the cell - the cot, a stool, and a tray of food and water on the floor. I pick up the cup - plastic; smart - and greedily gulp until there's nothing left. 

"I can bring you out for bathroom breaks three times a day, but you'll be handcuffed," he tells me. 

"Lovely." 

His smile is wry and sympathetic, but I don't let it fool me into thinking he'll help me. 

As much as I've come to like a select few Alexandrians, I haven't delusioned myself into believing that we owe each other anything. 

\---

When I wake again, it's to the sound of multiple footsteps descending the staircase. I glance up but do not bother to uncurl from my place on the cot. 

Rick appears first, nodding to Morgan, who leans against the far wall of the basement. On his heels comes Michonne, Jesus, Doctor Carson, and a woman I vaguely recognize as the sickly brunette from that night so very long ago, when my world collided with Negan's. She's noticeably pregnant now, her hands cradling the swell of her stomach as she looks at me. 

"Quite the welcoming party, isn't it, doc?" I murmur dryly as Carson strides to the bars of the cell and smiles. 

"It's a shame you're close to death every time I meet with you," he says gently, "though this time, you look a bit better. Who dressed the wound?"

"I did," offers Morgan as he stands to unlock the cell, allowing Carson in before moving to lock the door once more. But before he can Jesus slips forward, stepping in behind Carson with a meaningful glance aimed in Morgan's direction. The man nods and locks the cell before stepping back to stand alongside Rick, Michonne, and the brunette. 

"Hello, Mazia," says Jesus. 

"Hello, Paul," I return tiredly as Carson kneels. I can't even muster the energy to shiver and flinch away when his fingers lift my mangled and ripped shirt, beginning to unwrap the layers of bandages and gauze. 

"Paul now, is it?" Jesus asks, his bright blue eyes glistening with amusement as he kneels beside Carson, his face level with my gaze.

"You told me that your friends call you Jesus."

"We're not friends?"

"Given the situation, no, I wouldn't say that we are."

"Well that's strange. Would you say that we're enemies?"

I frown at him, my eyes narrowing. Is he mocking me now? Trying some strange method of getting information out of me? Warily my gaze slides to where Rick and the others watch us, before settling on Jesus again. "What?"

"It's just that if we're not friends, maybe you think we're enemies. But enemies don't spare each other in stairwells and gardens, do they?"

I don't miss the way Rick shifts in the background, clearly not having known this. My only response is a hiss as Carson carefully peels away the rest of the gauze, which clings stubbornly to the stitching before giving way. My gaze slides down to the jagged wounds, swollen and angry and weeping. The bottom is the shallowest, a short slash across my hip; the two along my side are deep and bruised purple around the edges, the fourth above them only slightly less gruesome. I can only imagine the scar it will leave, and I turn my gaze away from my own body in disgust. 

Jesus sees it. His gaze softens, but it only makes me pity myself more, and I turn my head away. 

"Shiva's dead," he tells me under his breath, sorrow tinging his words. Strangely, I feel it, too. It wasn't her fault; she was only doing what she was commanded, only protecting Ezekiel, just like Carter would have done for me. "Ezekiel's not."

I say nothing. 

"The stitching is good enough; it should hold during the recovery," Carson reports. "Did you clean the wounds before you closed them?" When Morgan nods, he sighs and sits back, studying me. "Good. That's good. The biggest worry we have with these is infection; you need to keep them clean, and you need to keep them dry. We'll keep an eye on that bullet wound, too. At least it went straight through."

"Lucky me."

To Carson's credit, he manages not to chuckle at my dry wit. "Have you been drinking? Eating?"

"She drinks," Morgan answers for me when I won't. "She won't eat."

"I'm going to give you antibiotics," Carson tells me, "so you're going to need to eat. You don't want them on an empty stomach."

"It's a little difficult to work up an appetite when you're being kept prisoner," I remark sourly. 

"Well, you won't be for much longer." It's the brunette who speaks, and though she clearly talking to me, she's looking at Rick. "I don't agree with keeping you here like this. But it's not my call. Rick will work something out with Negan soon."

I can't help the laugh that slips from my mouth. "I'm sorry, but...?"

"Maggie."

"Maggie, if you think Negan will just sit down and behave like a good little boy when he learns you have me, you're wrong. There are more important things than me. More lives at risk than mine."

"And that's exactly why we're doing this," she replies, unperturbed. "To stop the violence. To stop the war."

It's useless arguing with them, so I don't. I simply sit in silence as Carson redresses my wounds, and when he's finished, I turn my back to them, curling into a ball. I can sense Jesus still hovering nearby, but it still comes as a surprise when he lays a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. And then he and Carson are gone from the cell, the sound of footsteps ascending leaving silence in their wake. 

"I'll bring you your medicine, with lunch," Morgan says softly. Of course he's still here. 

"Can I be left alone?" I ask. "It's not like I can get out."

There's a long pause, and then the sound of him moving up the stairs, the basement door opening and closing behind him. I don't miss the sound of the lock clicking.

Only when I’m alone do I finally allow myself to give in to the exhaustion, the pain, the fear. Tears slip silently down my cheeks as I yank my scratchy blanket over my head and turn my face into my pillow. So many things pile up at once: Dwight’s betrayal, Negan’s inevitable worry, the unknown fate of my sister, my dog, my friends. 

The crippling guilt and anxiety that washes over me is useless, but I ride out the waves of agony until they’ve faded, and then I wipe my eyes and tuck the jaded, shattered pieces somewhere deep inside of me. There is no time for weakness.

Not now.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter day? :D 
> 
> So if you guys were mad at Dwight last chapter, you're reallly gonna hate him now. I considered trying to do something positive with him and Mazia's friendship at the start of this fic, since he's generally such a shithead in all other fics (and let's face it, it's totally cannon when he is). Buuut the Dwight I wanted to write and the Dwight in my head decided that wasn't gonna happen, thus he continued on his path to shitty-ness.

  


_As of now the end begins,_  
_I want to laugh but there's no joke._  
_To eat with the beasts and run with the wolves,_  
_on the ashes you must choke._  


All in all, the assault on Alexandria was a success.

Negan lost count of how many victims fell to Lucille, let alone the bullets and knives of the Saviors. He’d lost a considerable amount of men too, of course, before they’d had to retreat to regroup at the nearest compound. But they’d left Alexandria in shambles, and he’d never forget the enraged, shattered expression in Rick’s eyes as the wallS had fallen, his comrades not far behind. Negan still hadn’t been able to bash in the slippery motherfucker’s head before he’d had to leave, but he’d left Rick with a nasty shoulder wound that the man wouldn't soon forget.

As he sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep, his thoughts flickered back to Mazia, strangely conflicted. On one hand, he was fucking _furious_ that she’d been injured by Ezekiel’s overgrown pussycat; Simon had been frank when he’d told Negan the wound was serious. But the striped menace was dead courtesy of Kiyah, who’d put a bullet between the suffering creature’s eyes on the way out. And Simon had assured him that he’d left Mazia in Dwight’s care, with strict orders to take her directly to Carson at the Sanctuary. She was injured, but she was momentarily out of the fray, and for that he was strangely thankful.

Well, sort of.

When a group of men from the communities began harassing the compound for three fucking days straight, Negan found that he missed the familiar feeling of her shadowing him, dispatching the few who managed to slip past his guard. He missed watching her in action, with her swift footing and her quick knife-work. And hell, if he didn’t miss seeing her breathing hard with the blood of his fucking enemies on her clothes, triumphant.

So as he wades through the irritating assailants, whistling a jaunty tune, Lucille leaving a trail of carnage in her wake, he promises himself that he’ll go check on her the fucking second that this is over. He’s sure Simon can hold down the compound without him for a day or two – only an idiot couldn’t, so that ruled out Dwight, the fucker. But Negan supposes he’ll have to thank the squirrely little twit for getting Mazia back to a doctor – to safety. 

And he’ll have to return her dog, as much of a sweet perk as Carter has been. He can certainly see why Mazia has kept him around; Negan’s gaze slides to find the mutt, his amusement exploding from him in a near-cackle at the sight of the dog ripping into flesh left and right. Man, does it feel good to see his enemies go down screaming.

\---  
In the end, it takes another two days for the communities to exhaust themselves and give the compound a much needed reprieve.

Negan is on edge by the time he slips into the driver seat of the Jeep, slamming the door and rolling the window down a moment later so that Simon can lean in, his arms propped on the windowsill. Negan’s only company for the drive is Carter, who sits panting in the backseat, and Jed, for additional manpower if needed. 

“Shouldn’t be more than two days,” he tells Simon, itching to get on the road. The sooner he’s back at the Sanctuary with Mazia in his arms, the better. “You send word if _anything_ fucking changes.”

“Yep,” Simon drawls, stepping away from the car to salute lazily. Still, there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes that reassures Negan; Simon has never let him down.

The ride is quiet, thank fucking god. Negan doesn’t know if he’d be able to take any blathering on Jed’s part. Arrogant as Negan thought he was, he’s surprised to find the man is shockingly quiet, apparently sensing Negan’s fraying patience as the Jeep flies along the pavement.

When the gates of the Sanctuary slide into focus, Negan releases a slow breath, his shoulders feeling entirely too fucking tense. The men on the fence recognize the telltale matte black Jeep immediately, the gates groaning but opening swiftly; he doesn’t even have to stop the car until he’s inside, and then he’s climbing out, long limbs unfolding in a riot of movement.

Carter is on his heels as he begins moving, not bothering to greet any of the men and women who kneel. Even Lucille’s cleaning will have to wait – she’s still gore-splattered from the little skirmishes at the compound. But in that moment, Negan has only one thing on his mind, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he flings open the infirmary doors to find…

Nothing. All of the beds are empty, the room still. He frowns, glancing up sharply as Carson comes hurrying from one of the back rooms.

“You’re back,” he says, sounding surprised, as if he didn’t fucking know that Negan would come for Mazia as soon as possible. “I didn’t think – “

“Where’s Mazia? Already back in our room?” He’s turning before the words have even left his mouth, preparing to go charging upstairs, to find her safely curled beneath the covers of their shared bed. He can already picture how she’ll smile at the sight of him, how he’ll fold her in his arms and make sure she’s not hurting. But before he can move, Carson’s voice stills him.

“Mazia? I’m sorry, but…did she not go with you to the compounds?”

Oh, no. There’s a sudden tightness in his chest, a coiling in his stomach as he turns, striding forward until he’s nearly nose-to-nose with Carson, who looks startled and vaguely fearful. “She did. But Dwight brought her back. Injured.”  
Immediately, Carson is shaking his head. “I…perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding. I tended Dwight for minor injuries but…but Mazia wasn’t with him.”

“She was _hurt_ ,” Negan insists, hearing his voice rise just as swiftly as his panic does. “She was _mangled_ by a fucking _tiger_ and Dwight. Brought. Her. Back.”

“I – I don’t…”

A string of curses impressive even for him slips from his lips as he whirls and explodes from the infirmary in a burst of movement. His strides are long and furious as he moves through the halls, bursting back out into the yard, his voice a harsh, booming bark echoing off the building when he shouts, “DWIGHT!”

Some poor woman just to the left of the door startles and nearly drops the toddler on her hip, who begins to whimper. But Negan is already moving again, because he’s spotted the man of the fucking hour speaking with Jed. Their eyes lock, and he sees Dwight pale. It does nothing to alleviate his fear.

“Where is she?” He demands, his body slamming into Dwight’s, sending the smaller man reeling. But before Dwight can fall, Negan’s gloved hand snakes out, fisting in his shirt, yanking him upright. “ _Where is she?_ ”

Dwight, to his fucking credit, doesn’t play dumb. “I don’t know, boss. Simon told me at Alexandria that she was hurt – that she needed to come home. Told me where she was, but she wasn’t there when I got to the alley. I couldn’t find her anywhere, boss, I _tried_.”

“You left her again – “

“I never saw her, I couldn’t find her – “

“ – and you have the fucking _nerve_ to let me think she was here. You let me think that she was _safe_.”

“Boss.” It’s Jed, and Negan whirls on him, fully prepared to pummel him into the fucking earth with Lucille if he interferes. But he holds up one hand in surrender, and in the other is a little fucking wooden box, wrapped in a little fucking mocking bow. “Dwight found this outside of the gates.”

“I tried to tell you – “ Dwight begins, but he stops when Negan aims a furious snarl in his direction. He turns back to Jed then, ripping the box from his hand, tearing off the bow and opening it to find…

His breath catches. He nearly drops Lucille.

He reaches in to pluck out the delicate silver bracelet, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. The charms tinkle merrily as if laughing at him, and the little ballerina slippers are coated in blood. There’s a note beneath it that he can barely fucking read, because his hands are trembling and his vision is red and he’s going to _fucking lose it._

_She’s alive. Come prepared to negotiate._

_\- Rick_

\---  
The Jeep slides to a slow halt outside the gates of Alexandria, which have been hastily but shabbily repaired.

Negan’s knuckles are white where they grip the handle of Lucille, propped between his legs. He’s in the passenger seat, Simon driving, Dwight in the back. He regrets not bringing the fucking dog, but he doesn’t want to push his luck and make Rick feel threatened.

Yet.

There’s a moment where nothing happens, the guards briefly disappearing – likely running to Rick with their tails between their legs. And then the gates open and Simon’s pulling the Jeep into the community with a grim expression, bringing it to a reluctant halt. 

“Well, well, well. We have an audience,” Negan murmurs as the Alexandrians – and a few he recognizes from Hilltop, namely that fucker Jesus – gather around. Rick stands just in front of the Jeep with his hand on a gun at his belt, and Negan’s tempted to tell Simon to run the prick down, but he grits his teeth against the words as he opens the door.

“Leave your weapons,” Rick calls, and Negan can’t help his bark of laughter.

“You going to put yours down, too, Rick? I didn’t fucking think so. This is a negotiation, not a surrender.”

“For now,” remarks Rick. Arrogant fucking shithead.

Still, it takes everything within Negan to leave Lucille in the Jeep. He refuses to rid himself of his gun, and for some reason entirely unknown to him, Rick agrees to it. 

“Won’t let me have Lucille, but he’ll let me carry a fucking pistol. Idiot,” he gripes under his breath to Simon, who snorts and shrugs. He, Negan, and Dwight are surrounded now, and Negan can practically feel the heated, hateful gazes burning holes into his flesh. But he has eyes only for Rick as he asks, “Where is she?”

“First, we talk, and then – “

“ _Fuck_ that. I’m not going to ask you again, and I’m not negotiating a goddamn thing until I see that she’s fucking safe.”

Rick takes his sweet time answering, his gaze sliding to Daryl, to Michonne, and then for some fucking reason, to Dwight. And then he nods, gesturing with a jerk of his head for Negan to follow him.

Negan’s hot on Rick’s heels the entire time, Simon and Dwight flanking him. He can tell it makes Daryl uncomfortable, so he only dogs Rick’s steps more to irritate the greasy fucker. He and his men are outnumbered, anyways – though reinforcements are waiting just beyond the bend outside of Alexandria, just a walkie away. He’s not completely stupid.

Rick leads them into one of the houses, down the hallway and to a set of stairs. Something about the idea of Mazia being locked in some shady basement makes him seethe, but it’s nothing compared to the rage he feels when he sees a goddamn _cell_ constructed underground. There’s a lump beneath the covers on the bed, still, and he finds himself faltering for the briefest moment, his footsteps halting. What if they’ve fucking killed her, and this is all some sick, twisted joke to get him inside of the cell with her corpse – 

But then Jesus is slipping around him, his voice gentle enough to make Negan want to bash his skull in when he says, “Mazia.”

The lump stirs, and from beneath the blanket comes a stubborn, “Leave me alone, Paul.”

“Mazia.” This time it’s _his_ voice speaking her name, the only one who has any fucking right to, and suddenly the lump bolts upright, the blanket goes flying, and she’s tumbling from the mattress with wide, wild amber eyes that he was so scared he would never see again. He doesn’t think of the others in the room – Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Jesus, Simon, Dwight. He doesn’t even notice the dark-skinned man perched on a stool in the corner, observing with grim eyes. 

He sees only her as he stumbles over himself in his haste, his chest colliding painfully with the bars of the cell. His arms are reaching through the cold restraints, and then she’s there, pressing herself against the other side, unable to do anything but clutch at him through the bars. Her movements are stiff and pained, and he catches a glimpse of bandages beneath her shirt – a man’s shirt, tucked into her jeans - as it rides up a fraction. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she’s saying frantically even as he lifts a finger to trace the butterfly bandage holding a cut on her temple together, dipping down across her nose, her lips. “Negan. _Negan._ You shouldn’t be here. Dwight gave me to them.”

He doesn’t hear her at first – not really. It’s as if her words are in a different language, one that Negan is slow to comprehend. But when he does he stiffens, and slowly he turns, his hazel eyes lifting to meet Dwight’s. The fucker looks _smug_ , but it’s the faint flicker of regret in his eyes that really makes Negan thirst for blood.

“I didn’t want to get Mazia involved,” Dwight says, safe and cowardly behind Rick and his merry little gang. Simon has hastily stepped away from Dwight to stand beside Negan, his own scowl downright murderous as one of his hands goes to his pistol, the other to the walkie. But he hesitates, waiting for Negan’s command. “But it was the only way to get you here, like this.”

“So what?” Negan asks, his voice a deadly, quiet growl as he aims the question at Rick. “Now you take me, Simon, and Mazia prisoner, and let little turncoat Dwight try to run the fucking Saviors? They’ll eat him alive.”

“I told you that I wanted to negotiate,” Rick says calmly. “I wasn’t lying.”

Negan spreads his arms wide, the feeling of Mazia’s arm snaking through the bars to rest her palm between his shoulder blades the only thing keeping him from springing. “Well? I’m listening.”

“This war ends today – now. And our previous arrangement ends, too. No more taking from Alexandria, Hilltop, _or_ the Kingdom. No more threats and killing. We’re going to set up a _fair_ trade system between the four communities.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because you’re going to trade places with Mazia,” Rick says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “She’ll go back to the Sanctuary with Simon, if he agrees to the arrangement. And you’ll stay here, in the cell. Permanently.”

“If I disagree?” 

“We’ll kill her,” growls Daryl, without an ounce of remorse. “And you. And anyone else who tries to get in the way of peace.”

Negan can’t help the manic laughter that slips from between clenched teeth at the way Jesus winces, the way the dark-skinned man shifts uncomfortably, as if they give a _flying fuck_ what happens to Mazia. He doesn’t delusion himself into thinking that they give a shit about him.

“I have Saviors out the ass waiting for us to call them in,” Negan says with a grin, because he knows they’ve already suspected it from the way Simon grasps the walkie. “All I have to do is say the word, and they’ll swarm.”

“We’ll kill you before they get here, while you’re still outnumbered,” Rick says simply. “Simon, too. Mazia, if we have to. Who will they follow then?”

Negan is silent – because he doesn’t know. Sure, there are a few who’d rally and rage despite his death – or because of Mazia’s. Kiyah, James, Jed, a handful of others. But the majority of the Saviors, and the elderly and children of the Sanctuary…Negan knows they’re fucking exhausted. And without him or Simon to guide them, to push them, would they fall in line behind Rick?  
He doesn’t know, and it rankles him.

Silence stretches, and Negan’s mind works. There’s no fucking way out of this, not with Mazia alive, and that’s the one thing that keeps him from lunging for Rick to wring his smug neck. His shoulders drop just slightly, the barest sign of surrender, and then he’s turning to face Mazia, who’s already shaking her head. 

“No,” she’s saying, that damned stubborn blaze in her eyes, her fists clenched at her side. “No. I’m not leaving. I won’t let you trade. _No_.”

“Maz. Baby.” His voice is low and strained; he wishes he could hold her, but he knows they won’t open the fucking cell until he’s disarmed and vulnerable. So he reaches through to place his palms on either side of her face, stilling her shaking head. “If there was any other way…”

“There is. There has to be.”

“I’m all fucking ears, if you have any ideas.” When her only response is to let her eyes drift closed as if in pain, he moves forward to lean his head against the bars, trying desperately to think about nothing but her freedom. Because suddenly, it’s all that matters. He can see her at the Sanctuary with Simon ruling, with a fucking fairytale trade agreement between the four communities. With her sister, and Carter. If only it hadn’t taken him so long to see it. 

“You’ll get through this,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low, only for her. ” _We’ll_ get through this.” His voice raises then so the others can hear him, even though he still speaks to her. ”You’ll go back with Simon. You’ll stay behind those fucking gates at the Sanctuary, and you’ll stay safe. Do you understand?”

Her only response is a sob, and reluctantly he pulls away to glare over his shoulder at Rick, who advances forward to pat him down, just as Negan knew he would. Only when he’s weaponless and vulnerable does Rick turn to the dark skinned man and say, “Morgan. Open the cell.”

The others crowd around the door as if they expect he’ll make a fucking run for it or some stupid shit like that. The man – Morgan – rises from the stool and advances, pulling a single key from his pocket. The sound of the cell clicking open echoes, and Morgan steps back just as Negan steps forward, yanking the door open.

In a rush of flying hair and tears, Mazia is in his arms. He’s careful of her wounds, his arms gentle when they wind around her, his head lowering to rest his jaw on the top of her head. Her entire body is trembling, the front of his t-shirt damp with her tears as he runs one hand through her hair and makes quiet, reassuring noises that he doesn’t give a flying fuck if the others hear. And then his hands are moving down to cup her face, her head tilting back as their lips meet. 

Negan kisses her like it’s the last time – because shit, it might be. Her lips fit so perfectly against his and despite the tears that catch in his stubble, the kiss is slow and sweet, filled with sorrow and anger and _love_. It’s like nothing Negan’s ever felt before, and he feels his heart fracture as he pulls away from her at last. She digs her fingers into the sleeves of his jacket as if refusing to leave him, but he gently pries her away and gives her a gentle little shove, right into Simon’s waiting arms. It’s good that he’s there, because she practically fucking collapses with the force of her trembling as Simon leads her out of the cell, which Morgan shuts and locks with a hollow, final clang. 

Slowly, Negan turns and steps forward to lean against the bars, heavily lidded eyes radiating pure malice as he and Rick gaze at one another. There’s a quiet tension in the room, and his eyes flick to Mazia again, seeing the way her muscles tense, her own hatred-filled eyes looking at the very same man Negan just was. Before she can lunge, though, Jesus steps forward into her line of vision, and she wilts. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Negan barks to Simon. As of now, he’s not in charge anymore, but still Simon nods and gives Negan one final salute. And then he’s practically dragging Mazia up the stairs with Daryl and Jesus as an escort; her eyes remained locked on his until he can’t see her anymore. 

Ignoring the throbbing behind his ribcage, Negan collapses onto the bed with a sigh, long legs outstretched, arms folding behind his head against the wall. Something tinkles in his pocket, and he tears his gaze away from Rick long enough to reach inside, pulling out Mazia’s delicate little bracelet.

He wraps it in his glove-free palm, ignoring the way the sharp edges of the little ballerina dig into his flesh.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again! I'm on a roll ;) The continuous support from you guys is so, so appreciated. <3

  


_Sound the bugle now_  
_Play it just for me_  
_As the seasons change, remember how I used to be_  
_Now I can't go on; I can't even start_  
_I've got nothing left, just an empty heart_  


My days at the Sanctuary bleed together one by one, a never-ending torrent of sun and moon cycles, until a month has passed.

It is not the same, without Negan. Simon has kept his word to Rick, negotiating trades with the other communities, although reluctantly. He’s a good leader, stepping up with a steel fist to take Negan’s place. And he lets me keep the quarters that Negan and I shared, though I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

I am not the same. The woman who came to call the Sanctuary home, who became easy and carefree, is gone. In her place is a hard, steely figure who spends most days curled in the lonely bed once shared with a man, the satin sheets cold and unwelcoming. 

If it weren’t for Kiyah and James, I don’t know if I’d remember to eat. My sister is stubborn despite my mourning, bringing up trays when she’s done in the kitchen, usually with James in tow. He’s always good-natured and cheery, telling wild stories designed to make me laugh. But when it’s just Kiyah and I, the encounter usually ends with me curled up, my head in her lap, sobbing. I can tell that she hurts in her own way over my pain, that she wishes there was some way she could fix it. But she cannot bring Negan back to me. So she tries to nurture me in the only way she can, forcing me to eat even when the smell of food makes my stomach turn, rancid and reeking of rot even though there’s clearly nothing wrong with the meals. It’s only my own fragile mind, I tell myself as I force the food down. But the next morning I always wake nauseous and retching, crying as I hug the toilet, expelling my stomach and my misery. 

Sometimes, Sherry comes to see me, her own wounds over Dwight’s betrayal giving us something in common. Once, even Amber does, her ire seemingly diminished as she gushes about her new beau. And several times Simon keeps me company, sitting in the office with a glass of Negan’s scotch – though I suppose it’s his now. Still, he never takes liberties in claiming Negan’s old possessions; for a man I once thought gruff, he’s surprisingly kind. I don’t know if I can call what we have friendship, but it’s something. He’s always sure to keep me up to date on how things are running within the Sanctuary, though I no longer have any right to know.

Jed visits sometimes, too, with offers to spar if I ever need to vent my frustrations. I find that I’ve made more friends than I’d thought at the Sanctuary, but still, nothing fills the void. I begin to grow tired no matter how much I sleep, and pounding headaches become frequent as I curl with my arms wrapped around Carter most mornings. 

The first time that a small group consisting of men and women from each community visit to exchange supplies, I do not bother to rouse myself. I’m sick and miserable, unable to face them, my mood downright foul anyways. I wonder, as I listen to the sounds of voices wafting up from outside of the window, if it’s possible to die of heartache. 

The second time they visit, I can’t help myself. Dressed in leggings and a light sweater to combat the cool spring morning, I slip down to the yard, sticking to the shadows as I watch. To my chagrin, all of the leaders have come, except for Maggie – I wonder if she’s had her child yet. 

Rick stands speaking with Simon, Ezekiel, and Jesus, seemingly sent in Maggie’s absence. I’m content to remain there watching until Jesus’ gaze begins to roam, and like always, his eyes find my hiding spot. He breaks away from the others to walk towards me, and I don’t miss how Simon’s gaze idly follows him. But Jesus has never been a threat to me. 

When he reaches me, for the first time, I do not call him by his first name. Instead I dip my chin and mutter, “Jesus.”

His smile is genuine and free, making me envious of how easily happiness comes to him. “How are you?” He asks, though I suspect he can see well enough. It’s a miracle I haven’t lost more weight and simply withered away. 

“Well,” I lie, my gaze flicking to Simon, Rick, and Ezekiel. Ezekiel has spotted me, and his gaze creases with pain as his eyes slip to where Carter sits faithfully at my side, likely remembering Shiva. “The exchanges have been smooth, then?”

“No complaints so far,” Jesus comments, swiveling to lean against the wall beside me. “Simon has been…surprisingly cooperative.”

Silence falls for a moment, and I war with my desire to ask him the question burning my tongue. He must sense it, though, because he offers me a sad smile and says, “Negan is hanging in there. He’s restless and bored in that cell, as I’m sure you understand. But he’s taking great pleasure in hassling his overseers every chance he gets.”

I can’t help it; I smile. It’s a sad little twitch of my lips, because it sounds so much like him, and god, I miss him. The pain hasn’t lessened in the last month; it slams into me again, making me wheeze pathetically. For a moment I contemplate turning and fleeing, but then Jesus shifts, and his arm comes to rest over my shoulder, tugging me into his embrace. It’s a move meant purely to comfort, and though I stiffen, I relax after a moment and lay my head against his shoulder.

“I’m pathetic – letting the enemy comfort me.”

“I told you before that we’re technically not enemies.”

“Aren’t we, though? After everything that happened? After Negan and the war and…” I trail off, and he sighs.

“I don’t like to look at things in stark black and white. There’s always a gray area – always. I don’t see you as an enemy. I’ve saved your life, and you’ve spared mine.”

“That doesn’t mean that we can be friends.”

“Why not? Everything is different now. Besides,” I can almost hear the smile in his voice now. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about with me. Negan spends every time he sees me scowling and taunting me for how familiar I was with you; I haven’t told him I’m gay yet. Maybe one day.”

I can’t help the burst of incredulous laughter that explodes from my lips, my shoulders shaking with it. Eventually, I can’t tell if I’m sobbing or giggling anymore. “He’s going to be livid when you do. He doesn’t like feeling stupid.”

“I can tell.”

Finally, I can’t stop myself from asking. “Do you think they’ll let me see him?”

He sobers and sighs. “Rick’s been waiting for you to ask. It’s not likely.”

Of course not. I feel something within me wither, and I let my eyes drift closed as the pain surges through me. After a long moment, there’s the sound of approaching footsteps, and my eyelids open to see Rick himself approaching.

“Mazia,” he says, his gaze sweeping across Jesus’ arm where it still rests over my shoulders. “I didn’t see you last time. I was hoping you were well.”

“Were you?”

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. Instead he looks to Jesus and says, “We’re ready, when you are.” I say nothing as I watch him retreat, but after a heartbeat I pull away from Jesus, smoothing down my hair and steeling myself.

“I’ll see you again during the next pick-up?” He asks.

I waver for a moment, and then nod. I will no longer hide from Rick.

\---

Another two weeks pass before I finally realize that something is not right with me.

It takes a tremendous amount of courage to go to Carson. It’s not his fault; he was fantastic when I returned from my imprisonment at Alexandria, overseeing my medication and recovery with a smooth adeptness. My wounds are still scabbed over and healing, but through some magic of Carson’s making, the scars will not be quite so ominous as I thought.

Still, I hover outside his door, wringing my hands, until finally I suck in a breath and push into the quiet infirmary. There’s one other patient, a young woman, sleeping. Carson is seated on a stool, and he glances up, smiling at the sight at me.

“Ah, Mazia. How are you? Are your wounds bothering you?”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s…” Here I pause, the words lodged in my throat. I glance towards the sleeping woman, and Carson doesn’t miss it; he stands and ushers me into a backroom that sports a cot, a dresser, and a few personal baubles. His own room, it seems. 

I lean against the closed door, crossing my arms beneath my sore breasts. He does not press, instead waiting patiently as I gather the words.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

He seems unperturbed, nodding as he flips open a pad of paper on the desk nestled in the corner, pen clicking as he poises it over the little notebook. “When was your last period?”

“Over a month ago,” I inform him. “I’m usually not late. I thought it was stress. But…” 

I trail off, shifting uncomfortably, and he glances up.

“It’s alright, Mazia. I’m a doctor. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

I nod and soldier on. “I’m nauseous most mornings; I’m getting a little sick of vomiting, no pun intended. Most of the food Kiyah brings me smells disgusting. And I’m irritable, and hot, and so _tired_ all of the time. And my…my breasts, they’re so sore lately.”

He scribbles this all down, nodding at me to continue.

“I was taking the birth control you gave me. But there was one night, when we left for the compounds, where I didn’t bring it along with me. Negan and I…”

“No protection at all?”

“No.” Remembering the night is painful – the way Negan’s large, calloused palms traced reverent patterns across my skin. The desire in his eyes. His breathy moans, mingling with my own. I shy away from the memories. 

He nods and stands when he finishes writing, briefly disappearing back into the infirmary. When he returns, there’s a little cardboard box clutched in his hand, which he offers to me. “The restroom is in the back corner of the other room. Use it, wait three minutes, and let me know.”

I clutch the box to my chest as I slip back into the infirmary, making a b-line for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My breathing is uneven as I unbox the test and use it, setting it gently on the sink before backing away as if it might bite me.

I’m sure that it’s been longer than three minutes when I at last suck in a breath and step forward to lift the test in trembling hands, my eyes roving across the results.

When I step back out into the infirmary, the woman is still sleeping, and Carson is watching me. I gnaw at my bottom lip as I nod to him, once. 

I’m pregnant. 

\--- 

It’s another month before the communities return for the trade.

I’ve been anxiously awaiting their arrival, and I’m sure the way I burst into the courtyard startles them – and Simon as well. Somehow, I manage to hold myself back while they speak. But the moment they’re done, I frantically gesture for Jesus, who comes jogging over, his beanie pulled low over his head.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, alarmed.

“I need to talk to Rick, with you here,” I say. 

I see the hesitation in Jesus’ eyes. “Mazia. He won’t reconsider.”

“He might, now.”

Something in my tone must tip him off; his head cocks to the side like a curious bird, and he studies me for a long moment before nodding and retreating to where Rick stands speaking with Ezekiel. They exchange words that I cannot hear, and then Rick and Jesus peel away, striding towards me.

“Rick,” I greet him, and he nods, but says nothing else, waiting. “I need to see Negan.”

He frowns, his blue eyes darkening as he shakes his head. “Look, I understand. But I – “

“I’ll let you search me before I do. You can bring as many men down to the basement as you want. I’ll leave Carter, and I’ll come alone. I won’t even ask to be let into the cell. But this is important.”

There’s a brief silence before Jesus asks, “What’s this about, Mazia?”

It feels wrong, to tell them before I’ve told Negan. So far only Carson knows, though I think Kiyah suspects. For a moment I pause, and then one hand drifts to my stomach, still flat but already so precious. Their gazes follow my palm, and Jesus breathes, “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“That…complicates things,” Rick says carefully.

“Why?” I snap before I can stop myself, my temper flaring so very easily these days. “Do you think a little Negan Junior is going to give him the power to rip the bars of the cell apart? It will change nothing. He’ll remain a prisoner, and I’ll remain here. But he deserves to know.”

Rick’s answer isn’t immediate, and I feel my heart sink. They will not let me see him. They will not let him know that I carry his child. Almost frantic, I step forward, and my hand trembles as it shoots out to rest on Rick’s arm. It takes everything within me to keep it there – the feeling of my flesh against his, the warmth beneath my fingers, makes my stomach lurch and coil, threatening mutiny. But I manage to clench my teeth shut on the bile that rises, and when at last I can speak, I mutter, “ _Please._ ”

At last he sighs, and when he nods, the first pang of happiness I’ve felt two months surges through me. “I’ll set something up for next month – “

“No. Today – please. I want him to know before everyone else.”

He looks faintly disgruntled, rubbing a hand over his face. But in the end he agrees, and it’s left up to me to tell Simon that I’m going with Rick, alone. 

He’s very clearly not happy, his scowl almost enough to dampen my glee. “Mazia, I’m sorry, but did you even stop to fucking think – “

“Yes. I need to do this.” I haven’t told him why; not yet. Not until Negan knows. 

“If something happens to you – “

“ – Negan will gut you,” I finish for him. “I know. I’ll make sure Jesus goes with me.”

“Gee, you’re taking a guy from Hilltop with you? Well gosh, that’s just _so_ reassuring.”

“Simon.”

In the end, he reluctantly agrees, though the hard set to his jaw makes it clear that he’s not happy. He stands watching as Jesus ushers me into the cab of a truck, the bed stuffed with supplies. Rick slides into the drivers seat as Jesus moves to sit on my other side, and then we’re moving, the gates opening to allow our safe exit.

The ride is agony. My anticipation skyrockets, the urge to see Negan pounding through my veins, echoing like the thunder of war drums in my heart. I spot milestones from my last trip to Alexandria, where Simon pointed them out to Kiyah. It only serves to make me fidget, until Jesus reaches out and places a hand on my knee, stilling me. 

When Alexandria at last slips into sight, I take a moment to study it as the gates slide open. The walls have been repaired; there’s little evidence of the Savior’s attack now. But that doesn’t matter; nothing matters but the way my blood roars as I follow Jesus from the truck, ignoring the gazes of Alexandrians upon me.

“What’s she doing here?”

I turn, my eyes sliding across Carl as he approaches. Despite his words, there is no malice in his tone. I’m frustrated at being made to wait as more Alexandrians pile around, Daryl and Michonne included, but I say nothing.

“She’s come to see Negan,” Rick says, and he gestures with a hand for Michonne to search me; I’m grateful he doesn’t do it himself.

She finds nothing; I was careful to leave all of my weapons behind, save for the tiny, thin blade tucked high on my inner thigh. It’s nothing much, but it’s a manner of defense, if someone decides to attack.

When Michonne steps away, Rick at last signals for me to follow him. I can’t even be bothered by the way Daryl, Michonne, and an older woman with close-dropped gray hair follows us. Jesus is a steady presence at my side, seemingly at ease despite the neutral role he plays.

I can barely keep myself from running as Rick leads me up the stairs of a familiar house, through the foyer, down the hallway, the creak of the basement door making my heart stutter. I’m hot on his heels the entire way down the stairs, until at last he moves aside, and I vault into the room.

My eyes drink in the sight of Negan hungrily. He’s seated on a stool in the cell, his gaze not lifting from a paperback cradled in one of his broad hands. There’s no sight of Morgan – it seems as if they’ve left him be, for now.

Still without looking up, he sighs. “Miss me, Rick?”

His beard is longer than I’ve ever seen it, his hair curling around his ears, unslicked and slightly wild. My legs tremble as I move a few steps into the room, my voice just as shaky when I speak.

“I don’t know about Rick, but I sure have.”

Quick as lightening, familiar toffee eyes lift to meet mine, turning my insides to mush. In my mind, there is no one else in the room but the pair of us as he stands, striding slowly to the edge of his cell, his slow smirk spreading across his lips as he drinks me in. I’m sure I must look different, too – my figure fuller, breasts and hips larger, hair cropped shorter from where I allowed Kiyah to cut it. It’s still long, the tips brushing beneath my breasts, but no longer flowing down to my waist.

After a long moment of us simply taking each other in, his eyes meet mine, and thunder rolls through my veins.

“Hi, baby,” Negan murmurs.

  
_I'm a soldier, wounded,_  
_So I must give up the fight_  
_There's nothing more for me_  
_Lead me away, or leave me lying here_  



	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a liiiittle too much fun when I write jealous Negan. ;)
> 
> As a heads up, the next chapter will be Mazia - and the one after that will be a Jesus POV! There won't be a lot of POV chapters that aren't from Mazia or Negan - this might even end up being the only one. But there's plot things I need to set in motion without either Negan or Mazia present, so Jesus it is. I'm a little nervous to write for him!

  


_Where did I go wrong?_  
_Who was I supposed to be?_  
_When it's said and done_  
_will you remember me?_  


Negan has found that he has a _hell_ of a lot of time to reflect on the past few years.

He's done a lot of shitty things - that's no surprise. But something about sitting in the tiny cell day after day, only allowed to be released with handcuffs and a full fucking guard to stretch this legs here and there, makes him seriously reconsider a few of his decisions. 

There are things that he regrets - such as not coming to an agreement beforehand so he didn't end up imprisoned for who the fuck knows how long (life, if Rick has his way). And there are things that he doesn't - mainly anything to do with Mazia. 

It drives him crazy, to think about her. A few times he even sets aside his damned pride and asks Rick about her. But the stubborn excuse for an asshole won't humor him, and he thinks he might very well go insane not knowing what's going on with her and the Sanctuary. 

Morgan, at least, takes a small measure of pity on him and tries to feed him tidbits for information, like he's a fucking dog begging for scraps. But Morgan doesn't go on the collection runs, and so he's useless, anyways. The man is practically a fountain of fucking calm, even when Negan needles and tries to rankle him. In the end, it only ends up making _him_ ornery, instead of his gatekeeper. 

Sometimes, Jesus comes down to speak with Morgan, and then Negan _really_ gets his rocks off. He's practically just as uncaring as Morgan, but that doesn't mean Negan doesn't try. He hasn't forgotten the way the man spoke so familiarly to Mazia, and it never fails to make something in his blood boil. 

After the first collection, he's needling Morgan for information when the long-haired, blue-eyed shit turns up. He stands impassively by the stairs for a while, simply watching Negan, until his patience frays and he snaps, "what the fuck are you staring at, pretty boy? You want to take a picture?"

Jesus only smiles, which _really_ pisses Negan off. But then the man speaks, and Negan freezes on his cot. "She wasn't there. During the collection."

Wasn't there? As in simply not present, or not at the Sanctuary at all? His heart jolts. 

"I asked. Simon told me that she wasn't feeling well."

Of course the fucker asked. If he's sniffing after Mazia, Negan will - well. Do nothing, because there's no way out of this shithole. But that doesn't mean that he can't fantasize about killing the man. 

And Mazia not feeling well...he's sure that Simon only told Jesus in hopes word would get back to him. His heart thundered with worry; what did he mean, not well? A cold? A fucking injury? It could mean anything, and it only drove him crazy. 

After the second collection, Jesus came slinking down the stairs again, nodding to Morgan, who'd been whittling some stupid carving for the last goddamn four hours. 

"She was there, this time," he says, and Negan's eyes snap up to meet his. Why the fuck is he even telling him this? Why not leave him in his ignorant misery, wondering what was happening?

"She asked to see you." It's clear by the look in his gaze that Rick the Prick refused. "But she looks well enough."

Well enough? _Well enough?_ Negan surges to his feet, his stool clattering to the floor as he menacingly advances until the bars stop him. Jesus stands still and patient, simply watching. He wouldn't be so goddamn calm if there weren't bars holding Negan back. 

"What the fuck do you mean, 'well enough' ? Could you be anymore goddamn vague?"

For the first time, a warning flashes in the mans eyes. "I'm only telling you this because of her. You could at least be grateful."

"Grateful? For fucking what? Still not knowing _exactly_ how she is?"

"She's hurting," Jesus snaps. "She's confused, and she's angry, and she misses you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Fuck off," he growls, but then his shoulders drop. Shit, he hates to know that she's hurting; he is, too. He misses her more than he ever could have thought he would, and everything inside of him screams for him to rip the bars of the cell apart, to slaughter Rick for causing this, to rush back to the Sanctuary and her arms. 

But he can't. 

So he sits, and he waits, and he fumes, day after day, for months. He snaps and snarls and provokes the ones who bring down a wooden fucking tub regularly to let him bathe, and he tells Morgan to fuck off more times than he can count. 

And Dwight. When _Dwight_ comes into the room to taunt him, it's always the worst. Because the very sight of him nearly drives Negan crazy; he hates the man with a furious passion. If he ever makes it out of here, he'll kill him - no questions asked. 

Sometimes, Carl comes to speak with him, he usually scathing and Negan usually obnoxious. But he keeps coming back; the kid really is going to go fucking nuts one day, he thinks. 

He sits, and he waits. 

And then one day, the sound of the basement door opening doesn't even make him glance up. He's growing bored with harassing them, if possible, so he keeps his eyes on a worn copy of _Equus_ in his hands. He'd seen Mazia reading it, once. It's fucking strange, in play format with some psychopath kid as the star. Maybe that's why he likes it. 

He hears boots on the concrete, still not looking up as he drawls, "Miss me, Rick?"

The voice that answers is definitely _not_ Rick. It's soft and feminine and trembling, and goddamn if it doesn't make his heart nearly stop. His gaze snaps up, book forgotten as he stands, hardly believing what he sees before him. 

He wants to be mad that she's there, unarmed, with no reinforcements in sight. He wants to be furious at the way Rick and his little group watch with wary eyes from the stairs, like she's some kind of wild animal. 

But he can only feel relief, because Mazia is standing before him and staring at him like he's an oasis in the desert. 

He speaks, somehow - he doesn't know how the words don't stick in his throat. His voice makes her visibly tremble, and as she rushes towards the bars, he drinks in the sight of her. Her figure looks healthy, her hair a little shorter than before, but he doesn't miss the dark, tired circles under her tear-filled eyes. 

His arms reach through the cell, the bars pressing hard into his chest as he wraps them around her, wishing there was nothing in the way. And fuck him, he's stunned when Morgan quietly advances towards them, slipping that familiar key from his pocket. 

"Step back," he says quietly, and for the first time Negan obeys without comment, lurching back against the far wall of the cell. 

"Morgan," Rick warns, his voice low, but Morgan ignores him. Shit; now he feels a little bad for harassing the man for so long.

The cell opens, and Mazia steps inside. They simply look at one another as Morgan closes and locks the cell behind her before retreating to his stool. 

And then at once they move, he stepping forward as she barrels into his arms, nearly knocking him over. His chuckle is low and rough as he pulls her to him, resting his forehead against hers, simply drinking in the feel and the smell of her, that lavender soap of hers that he loves so much. 

He doesn't care about their little audience - fuck them, he'll give them a show. When he leans down to kiss her, his movements are hungry and swift, and she responds with equal passion. 

Shit, he missed this. 

Finally she pulls away a fraction to look up at him, whispering, "I missed you."

He hears just how much in her voice, and he guides her backwards as he sits on the cot, pulling her onto his lap. She's gained a little weight, he notices, but her little lithe frame still fits so perfectly against his. 

"I know. How'd you get Rick to agree to this?"

She wavers and glances up, first to Rick, and then to Jesus, before she looks back to him. "I almost didn't. But this visit is...a little important."

He can't tell from her tone if she means it in a good or bad way. He frowns as one hand slips down to grip her hip, his fingers slipping beneath her shirt, gently tracing the scars there. She flinches and tries to draw away, but he doesn't let her; he doesn't give a fuck about scars. She's still breathtaking. 

"What is it?"

It's clear she's reluctant to say with such a large audience, and his glare lifts to find Rick's gaze. Whatever it is, the man must know, because he ushers the others out of the room, leaving only him, Jesus, and Morgan. Still irritating, but better. 

Mazia shifts to look up at him, one of her hands going to his chest, idly running her fingertips over the fabric of his shirt. She looks nervous - shit. Is she going to tell him that something's wrong at the Sanctuary? That someone died? That she's running away with that fucking _fucker_ Jesus?

_Don't be a goddamn idiot._

His hands lift, settling on either side of her face as he stares into her tawny eyes. "Mazia. Sweetheart, you're scaring me a little."

She sucks in a breath, and then lets it out at once in a rush of words. "I'm pregnant."

And just like that, everything changes. 

For a long moment, Negan wonders if he heard wrong. His brow furrows, his eyes slipping to her stomach, still flat. He remembers the way he noted how she seemed... _shapelier_ when he first looked up to see her. How Simon had told Jesus that she wasn't feeling well. 

"I..." he stops, because he doesn't even know what the fuck he's trying to say. And then he clears his throat to try again. "You're sure?"

"I confirmed it with Carson."

"I thought you were taking...?"

She glances towards their tiny audience, all three who are trying very hard to pretend like they can't hear. "The night before we raided Alexandria, at the compound. I didn't bring my pills, and then I was kept here for days without them..."

He hadn't even thought about it, at the time. There'd been too much on his mind, war and worry foremost. 

"Are you disappointed?" She asks, and he hates how small her voice sounds, like she really expects him to be. 

" _Disappointed?_ Fucking christ, baby, _no._ I'm disappointed that I can't fucking be there for you - no, furious. But I'm not disappointed that you're pregnant." And it's true. He can hardly fucking believe that he's going to be a father, that _Mazia_ is going to be the mother to his kid. One hand slips around to rest against her stomach, his fingers tracing slow circles. 

But...another part of him is terrified, because he won't be there to protect her while she's pregnant. He won't be there to hold her hand when she gives birth, or look at the face of their child as it sees the world for the first time. He won't be there to help raise his own goddamn kid, all because of the situation he's gotten himself into. 

He doesn't want to dampen her joy in that moment, though. Or his own. So he tugs her closer and simply holds her as she rests her head against his chest. He wonders if she can hear the swift pace of his treacherous a heart - a heart that he swore would never love again, until he met Mazia and the damn thing mutinied. 

As he rests his chin on the top of her head, his gaze slowly lifts to meet Rick's. There's a strange look in the man's eyes as he and Negan stare at each other, a mixture of stubbornness and a dash of pity that Negan hates. 

He doesn't say it, but he wonders if it shows in his eyes - the sudden fierce determination to escape the cell, to escape Rick's clutches. He'd been resigned to his fate before, but now some fearsome beast stirs inside of him, lifting its head. 

He refuses to not be there for Mazia. He refuses to not be there for their child. He doesn't know how he'll manage it, but somehow, some way, Negan will. 

\---

He spends as much time with her as they're allowed, holding her and listening as she tells him about the Sanctuary. 

He's glad to hear that Simon is holding down the fort; it chaps his ass that they've been forced into the current situation, but Negan supposes it's not as bad as it could be. 

When there's nothing else to talk about, he gets a devious little idea that has him bringing his lips down to meet hers, his body coaxing her back against the stiff mattress of the cot. 

"Negan," she breaks away to breathily warn him, eyes gleaming with a desire that makes him achingly hard. Something about the knowledge that she's pregnant, that she's carrying _his child_ , only drives him crazier. "As much as I've missed you, I'm not really an exhibitionist."

His gaze snaps up to the others; Jesus has slipped out of the room while he was distracted, and Morgan is pointedly looking away. Only reluctantly does Rick glance up to meet his eyes. 

"Don't look so frazzled, Rick," he says with a cluck of his tongue. "I'm not naked yet. Besides, I know you're into the dark chocolate and all, but I have one fine ass body for you to look at, if I do say so myself."

Rick frowns, shaking his head. "I think it's time to take Mazia back to the Sanctuary now."

"Oh, come _on_. You're not gonna make me sit here with blue balls, are you? I'll even be quick - give me thirty minutes."

Rick scowls. 

"You're really gonna make me embarrass myself? Stone cold, Rick. Fine; fifteen."

For a moment Rick says nothing, and then he sighs, gesturing for Morgan to follow him upstairs. The man seems all too happy to oblige. 

He turns to Mazia then, grinning as his stubble brushes her throat, his teeth nibbling at her collarbone. "Now. Where were we?" 

As much as he hates to not take his time with her, to worship her body like she deserves, they shed clothes swiftly until there's nothing between them but warm, flushed skin. He's all too eager to settle between her thighs, though he doesn't press into her yet, instead slipping a hand down between them to run his fingers teasingly between her folds as he nibbles and kisses her breasts. 

Her quiet moans of pleasure only make him harder, if that's even fucking possible. He wants to keep teasing her, but he mournfully remembers their time restraint, at last sliding inside of her with one long, slow stroke. 

Her hair spills across his single pillow, which she turns her head into, letting the fabric muffle her mewls as he begins to move. As much as he wants to let his hips snap against hers, he forces himself to move slowly, savoring the feeling each time he pulls out onto to slide back into her wet, welcoming body. 

A breathy groan of his own slips from him as he lowers his head to nibble at her ear, whispering a gruff, "did you miss this, too?"

Her enthusiastic _yes_ makes his hips buck; he buries himself completely inside of her, stilling for a moment to catch his breath, to slow the rapidly approaching orgasm that already threatens. It's been two goddamn months since he's been able to fuck her, though he's spent plenty of nights imagining it with his cock in his hand. 

Dreams are nothing like reality, though, and the moment he's sure he won't finish at any second, he starts to move again. His lips are still near her ear when he whispers raggedly, "I'm going to find a way out of this."

He pulls back slightly as she shifts, watching as her gaze lifts to meet his. The desire and love he sees there almost drives him over the edge all over again, and she smiles coyly as she tells him, "I know."

And then she starts rolling her hips - god, he can't do anything but hold himself above her on trembling arms as _she_ fucks _him_ , until at last he gives in. His hands move to her hips as he pushes up onto his knees, pulling out of her long enough to flip her over, dragging her hips into the air as her back arches, her breasts pressed against the mattress. 

He lets a long, low moan slip from his lips as he plunges into her again, broad hands holding her hips still as he begins to drive into her, all slowness forgotten. It feels too damn good, and he can hear her drawn out moans of pleasure even through the pillow. 

In the end, it's her own release just seconds before his that tips him over the edge. She moans his name as she tightens around him, momentarily forgetting to muffle her noises as her head tilts back. He catches a glimpse of her expression, eyes shut, mouth open in ecstasy, and then he's groaning her name as he buries himself all the way inside of her one last time, his vision behind his eyelids flashing white. 

He slumps to the side afterwards, ignoring how his shoulders scrape the concrete wall as he pulls her with him, her back pressed to his chest, his face buried between her slender shoulder blades. He presses a kiss there and she shivers at the feeling of his stubble, making him grin. 

When a warning knock sounds on the basement door, it's far too soon. Reluctantly he lets her go so that she can dress, though he only pulls his scratchy blanket over his own nakedness, letting it rest just beneath his hipbones. Rick be damned - let the man see the light sheen of sweat dampening his skin and the satisfied smirk on his face, like the cat that ate the canary. 

"Remember what I told you," he murmurs to her when she leans over him, and she nods before kissing him, breaking away only when the door opens and Rick, along with Daryl and Morgan, come creeping back in. "And don't run off with Jesus."

Her laughter is loud and genuine, making him grin, though he fakes indignation. 

"He told me you've been jealous," she teases, and he opens his mouth to protest that he's _not_ jealous of that long-haired hippie fuck, but then she states in a conspiratorial whisper, "he's gay."

"Fuck me," Negan groans, incredulous. "That bastard. He let me think he was some smooth-tongued shoulder to cry on trying to get into your pants."

"Did he really?"

"No, but I imagined that he did."

She grins for a moment before her expression sobers. "I love you," she tells him, laying her hand on his chest, over his heart. 

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he rumbles, voice low. She smiles sadly and straightens, turning to walk towards where Morgan waits on the other side of the cell door. But then he remembers something and sits up, calling, "Maz, wait."

She turns, arching a brow. 

"If you look in my jacket pocket, your bracelet is there," he tells her. He'll be sad to see it go - he's spent many nights sitting with it clutched in his palm, remembering her - but she shakes her head. 

"Keep it safe for me," she says. "I've been keeping Lucille safe for you."

He can't help the wide grin that flashes across his face as he lays back against the cot, folding his arms behind his head. He watches as Morgan lets her out, his eyes following her as she moves towards the stairs, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder and meet his gaze. 

He winks at her and she smiles; then she turns, and she's gone. 

Only Morgan remains as Negan stares considerately up at the ceiling. 

"At least I won't have to worry about that fucker Jesus," Negan states matter-of-factly to himself. 

Morgan cannot contain his laughter.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I could think of while writing this chapter was that quote from The Office: "Dwight, you ignorant slut."

  


_Don’t judge a thing_  
_Until you know what’s inside it_  
_Don’t push me_  
_I’ll fight it_  


Jesus is the one assigned to take me back to the Sanctuary on his way back to Hilltop, and I’m thankful for it.

My insides are a jumbled wreck of confusion: fear, relief, happiness, trepidation. It all swirls together in a strange concoction, making my hand slide down to clutch at my stomach as it rolls.

Jesus doesn’t notice – not at first. He’s driving, his eyes on the road, his posture relaxed. But suddenly my head lurches forward, my free hand flying to my mouth, and his gaze flies to me. He brings the car to an impressively smooth halt for the swiftness that we stop, and I fling the door open, my knees meeting asphalt as I retch and expel the contents of my breakfast onto the road. 

He’s out of the car and beside me suddenly, his hand reaching to pull my hair away from my face as I gag and heave. When I’m finished, I go to wipe my mouth with my sleeve, but he produces a cloth from his pocket, offering it to me. I give him a weak, grateful smile as I wipe my mouth before sliding back into the car.

When we’re settled and moving again, I feel his gaze slip to me. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just a little unsettled. The sickness and nausea should be fading by now, but Carson says it lingers for some.”

The sun is high in the sky above the windshield, nestled in a bed of clouds. My eyes drift to it idly, my thoughts returning to Negan and the time we spent together in his cell. I believed him, when he said that he would find a way to escape; I still do. I eagerly look forward to the day he’s back in our shared rooms, free to hold me, free to care for me as my pregnancy progresses.

I’m torn from the daydream by Jesus’ voice. “Do you have any ideas? For names?”

“No. I…didn’t discuss it with him. It’s still so early, and I don’t want to get our heart set on anything, in case…” I trail off. My mother had suffered a miscarriage before she’d conceived me, and two more before she’d conceived Kiyah. I’m afraid that my own luck will be similar, with the stress of the world weighing upon me.

“Still – you have to have some idea.” I glance towards him, seeing his smile. “If it’s a boy?”

I shift in my seat, letting myself consider it for the first time. “I don’t know – like I said, we didn’t talk about it. But maybe…maybe after my father.”

“What was his name?”

“Emil.”

“And if it’s a girl?”

I’m tempted to say my mother’s name, but then I think of Negan, of his past, and I can’t help myself. “Lucille.” I know he’d be happy to hear it.

“Both beautiful choices,” Jesus says, smiling faintly. A moment later, it slips from his lips. “Look…I know it’s difficult, being pregnant and away from him. And I know…I know Rick seems unsympathetic to it. But you should know that no matter what, I’m here for you. I don’t know about the doctor at the Sanctuary, but the Carson at Hilltop is wonderful with pregnancies. He helped Maggie birth her son.”

So she _had_ given birth. “What did she name him?”

“Hershel. After her father, too.”

I nod, but do not reply as the pavement flies by beneath the wheels of the car. The rest of the ride is pleasant, with Jesus singing a cheerful tune, his voice relaxed and pleasant.

When we arrive at the Sanctuary, I’m almost reluctant to leave Jesus’ presence. Despite my harsh words in the past, he’s become such a wonderful friend, and I smile at him before I slip out of the car and approach the gates, which promptly slide open to allow me entrance.

Simon is waiting, his gaze hard but contemplative as it slides across me. “Did they let you see him?”

“Yes. He looks…good. Bored out of his mind, but good.”

He nods, and his voice is gruff when he asks, “you wanna tell me what that was about now?”

I glance around to ensure that we’re out of the hearing range of the patrolling men. “I’m pregnant.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon shocked, but it flickers in his gaze now as his eyes slide down to my stomach. “No shit?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck.” He whistles long and low, shaking his head. “How’d Negan take the news?”

“Well. I think it only motivated him to find a way to escape, though.”

“Typical. Are you…” He frowns and clears his throat. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

I smile at his clear but uncomfortable concern, shaking my head. “No. Have you seen Kiyah?”

“She’s in the rec room. Carter’s with her.”

“Thanks, Simon.” I lift my hand in a half-hearted wave as I turn on my heel and stride towards the compound, slipping into the warm building, my silent steps leading me down the hall and several doors down from the cafeteria, to the recreation room.

Just as Simon said, Kiyah is curled on one of the couches there, talking and laughing with Julie from the kitchen. Carter is slumbering at her feet, but it’s almost as if he senses me; his head lifts suddenly, eyes springing open and settling upon me, his tail beginning to thump noisily against the floor.

Kiyah glances up, beaming when she spots me. “Mazia! You’re back.”

I smile as I pad forward to settle beside her on the couch, my arm snaking around her as she lays her head on my shoulder. Julie, perhaps sensing we need time together, stands and slips away to talk to Bryan.

“How was it?” She asks, voice pitched low.

“Good – but bad, too. I’m happy I was able to see him…but god, it only made me miss him more.”

She squeezes my arm, nodding sympathetically. “Did you tell him you’re pregnant?”

I’d suspected that she knew, but to hear her say it makes me startle, my shoulders momentarily tensing before relaxing. “Yes.”

“And he took it well?”

“Yes. He was… _happy_ about it.”

“Of course he was. The man looks at you like you’re a goddess that he can’t stop worshiping.”

My hand drifts down to scratch Carter’s ears, unable to keep the smile from my face. These next few weeks, or months, or however long it takes Negan to come to me, will not be easy. But I know that I will endure them.

For my sake. For his.

For our child’s.

\---

Another month passes, and the morning of the collection dawns.

I’m three months pregnant now, my stomach protruding just slightly, the bump becoming noticeable. Spring is in full bloom, which means thawed biters, but we are safe within the walls of the Sanctuary. I’m settled on one of the benches, legs curled beneath me and Carter sprawled beneath where I sit, when a call comes up from the gates.

I watch as the familiar trucks rumble in – one for each of the communities, large enough to transport goods to us, and take back the ones that we trade them. Carter lifts his head, huffing out a growl; he’s been fiercely protective of me lately, more so than usual. More often than not he can be found nudging his way between me and whoever I’m speaking to, glaring pointedly at unfamiliar people who approach me (the kitchen staff not excluded), or dogging my steps so determinedly that there’s no question regarding his presence. It’s exhausting, but also endearing, in a way, to know that he has sensed my condition and decided my protection is top priority. 

I’m surprised to see Maggie slide out of Hilltop’s truck after Jesus; she looks healthy and happy, her hair a little longer than when I last saw her in Alexandria, her figure having returned to a slender state. I wonder if my own will snap back after I’ve given birth – I’m certainly _not_ looking forward to resembling an over-inflated blimp for months. 

As the men of the Sanctuary along with help from the others begin to unload the trucks, preparing to reload them with different items the moment they’re empty, I trace Jesus’ path as he moves to say something to Simon. I can see Simon’s scowl even from here, but he waves his hand flippantly, as if giving Jesus permission for something.

I watch with an amused expression as I unfold myself from the bench, surging to my feet and striding towards the group. Seconds later I feel Carter brush against me as he lopes along at my side, settling himself between Jesus and I when at last I stop.

“Someone’s a little protective, isn’t he?” Jesus muses, his blue eyes bright. 

“I suspect it will only get worse the larger I get,” I tell him with a roll of my eyes, my gaze drifting to Simon, who is begrudgingly speaking to Rick. “What’d you say to piss him off?”

“I asked if he’d let me stay one night at the Sanctuary. Maggie wants me to go scouting tomorrow, and it would be easier to start from here and work my way back to Hilltop. But you’d think I insulted him by the way he scowls.” 

“Simon’s just a big grump,” I inform Jesus, not missing the way Simon glances towards me when he hears him name. “Picture him as a coconut, if you will – hard as hell on the outside, but a total softie once you crack him open.”

“Fuck off, Mazia,” Simon promptly tells me.

Jesus cannot contain his snort. “I see what you mean.”

My lips quirk into an easy smile as Simon drifts off to bark orders at the Saviors loading items into the trucks. Once more my gaze flicks to where Rick stands, one hand on his waist, near to his gun. “Rick looks…tense.”

“He is.” Jesus glances at me, wavering, as if deciding how much to tell me. “He sent a group out scouting weeks ago, and no one has heard from them.”

“He doesn’t think we’re involved, does he?”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Which means he suspects it; typical. “And where is Ezekiel?”

“He’s decided that he no longer needs to supervise the collections. He’s sending Richard in his place now.” 

I wonder if it’s because coming to the Sanctuary reminds him of what he’s lost; I’ve never spoken with Ezekiel, never interacted with him besides the time our eyes locked at Alexandria and he sent Shiva after me. I don’t take it personally; I would have sent Carter after him, too.

“Well, maybe one-day Rick will learn that we’re not a bunch of bloodthirsty – “ 

My words lodge in my throat, leaving an unappealing choking noise in their wake. Jesus whirls towards me, alarmed, perhaps expecting that I’ve been attacked. 

“Mazia, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is It the baby?”

His frantic questions volley one by one, but I don’t – can’t - answer, and finally he turns, his gaze following mine to settle upon the man who has stepped from between two of the trucks.

“What is _he_ doing here?” I don’t how I missed him before. Dwight is not looking at me as he moves through the group of men, sticking close to Rick, the burned side of his face on display. Across the yard, Simon has spotted him, too; he looks just as murderous as I feel, though he doesn’t approach Dwight, simply watching the man with arms crossed.

“I told Rick that it wasn’t a good idea,” Jesus is saying under his breath. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t see him – he stayed in the cab, for a while.”

But now he’s out, strutting around like a fucking peacock, the smirk on his face doing little to ease the anger of the men that he betrayed. He is Rick’s now, and we cannot hurt him without risking another war; Dwight knows it.

Maybe he feels my heated gaze on him. Maybe it’s pure coincidence. Either way, he suddenly stops and lifts his head, chin tilting upwards as the gentle spring breeze catches the long strands of his blond hair. There’s a moment where his eyes flicker closed, and then suddenly they’re opening again, his head turning, the good side of his face a harsh contrast to his burns as his gaze settles on me.

 _Liar. Traitor. Rat._ Without realizing it, my hands have slid down to my stomach protectively, my body angling away from him. But it’s as if he cannot see my guarded body language, or the naked betrayal that shines in my eyes. He begins to stride towards me, and when he’s only a few steps away, Jesus is suddenly between us.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says to Dwight, voice low. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“What, she can’t tell me herself?” Dwight sneers, and I turn just in time to see his scathing gaze sweep Jesus’ frame, dismissively. But Jesus is not the only one standing between us – Carter is there, hackles raised, distrustful gaze trained on Dwight. 

Still, Dwight looks past the both of them to me, and I feel my heart harden. I’d considered him a friend, once, though he’d gone through his strange mood swings, often times distancing himself. I know why, now. But back then… 

I remember the times we’d spent eating dinner together, before I began joining Negan each night. Or the times we’d both been on guard duty at the same time, our rounds of the gate occasionally bringing us past each other, where we’d trade joking insults and see who laughed first before we parted again. I remember thinking, as I knelt in the dirt the first time I’d met Negan, with Dwight smirking at my fear behind me, that he was a beast. Slowly, I’d warmed to him until I’d thought he was a friend. Now, we’ve cycled back around full circle. 

“Can I talk to you?” He has the nerve to ask, gaze flickering to Jesus. “Alone?”

I swallow the tempting urge to tell him where to stick whatever he has to say, glancing towards Jesus, who is watching me, waiting for my answer. I nod, and his shoulders tense for a moment, but then he steps away without an ounce of judgement in his eyes.

When Jesus is out of earshot, I swivel back to face Dwight, eyes narrowing, arms still folded protectively over my stomach. He doesn’t miss it, and he scowls.

“Christ, Mazia, I’m not going to try to fucking stab you or something.”

“No? It wouldn’t surprise me.”

He opens his mouth to fire back, but then it snaps closed, and Dwight sighs. “Look, I deserved that. I know you hate me. But you have to understand that _this_ is better than things were with Negan. I did what I had to do, and you were never supposed to be in the middle - ”

“I have to _understand?_ ” The pitch of my voice is dangerously high; I see Jesus and Simon both turn, feel Carter tense beside me. Dwight takes a step back, but I take two forward, tilting my head back until we’re nearly nose-to-nose, my mouth shaping the mockery of a snarl. “I _understand_ that you’re a liar. I _understand_ that you let me think that we were friends, that you let me believe you actually gave a _shit_ about me, and the Sanctuary, and Sherry.”

The sound of her name makes him flinch, but I don’t stop, chest bumping his. I see movement closing in from the side, and I’m determined to say what I have to before someone can stop me.

“I was hurt, and I _trusted you_ , and you gave me to Rick. So I don’t want to hear it anymore. And now _you_ need to understand that I will never forgive you. If you come anywhere near my child when he or she is born, I will kill you.”

He looks down, so I hiss _”Dwight,”_ just as Rick reaches us. Dwight glances up, and I have no sympathy for the wounded look on his face. “Do not test me.”

“That’s enough,” Rick begins gruffly, his hand resting on my arm, but I tear away from him, whatever passive, patient wall that had built within me now crumbling.

“Don’t touch her,” Simon snaps, suddenly there too, and Rick’s eyes flash as the men’s gazes meet. The air is tense, and I find my palms slipping towards my knives as Carter surges forward to stand in front of me.

“ _Enough_.” It’s Maggie’s stern southern drawl that has all eyes turning towards her, her hands on her hips as she looks between the gathered group. “I understand that everyone is a little tense right now. So I think it’s time that we all get back to our communities. Rick?”

I see him nod from the corner of my eye, and my hands slip from my knives, ignoring Dwight’s pointed glance as he reluctantly follows Rick’s now-retreating form. Simon trails after them, apparently determined to make sure that they truly leave.

Maggie watches them go, and then surprisingly, she turns to me.

“I know you’re angry, and I’m sorry that Dwight came to bother you. But you need to be more careful, Mazia. You can’t go picking fights and reaching for your knives over everything that infuriates you, because you have someone else relying on you now.” I watch as her gaze slip towards my stomach, knowing, and I can’t even muster the energy to snap at her. So I nod, turning towards Jesus’ approaching form as he bids goodbye to Maggie before turning to me.

“Well,” he begins.

“Don’t you even say anything,” I warn, and he grins, holding up his hands passively.

“Alright, alright. How about you show me somewhere that I can sleep for the night, then. Unless Simon is going to make me sleep outside?”

Despite the tenseness in my shoulders, I laugh and shake my head. “No. Do you mind a couch? It’s pretty luxurious, for a sofa. And only a door away from me – so I can protect you if the bedbugs bite.”

It’s his turn to shake his head at me, but still he smiles and says, “A couch is better than the cold.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear some of you guys are psychic. ;)

  


_Prepare as we will_  
_Watch the flames burn auburn_  
_On the mountain side_  
_Desolation comes upon the sky ___  


Dawn is the hour of silence.

The sky is a gentle, pale gray, faintly visible through the reaching branches of the trees that are slowly recovering their leaves. There is a chill in the early morning air, and a thick layer of fog hangs above the dew-coated grass, making visibility grim. 

It’s not the first time Jesus has scouted in less-than-ideal conditions; in fact, he’s found that he enjoys this time between sleeping and waking, when the sky is not yet tinged by the color of shell pink and faint orange. 

His coat keeps him warm, the bottom of it flapping around his calves in the breeze. His boots make little noise as he moves, something he long ago remedied. When the world had first come to a screeching halt, he’d been like a bumbling newborn fawn, his crashing through the forest alerting walkers for miles. 

But he’s quiet now, and quick. He’s learned to look where he steps, to let the soft, damp blades of grass muffle his footsteps as he walks.

He’s not sure what he’s looking for – not really. All he knows is that Rick’s scouts are missing, Tara included, and Maggie is worried for what it might possibly mean. Not only for Hilltop, but for the Kingdom and Alexandria, and even the Sanctuary. 

If another community has popped up, a hostile one…well, Jesus would rather not think about that, until he has confirmation. But the alternative, that something has happened to the group – walkers, traps, accidents – isn’t any more appealing.

His mind begins to wander as he moves through the trees. He’d enjoyed his night spent at the Sanctuary, surprisingly. Mazia had made for good company, and he’d met a fair share of her friends and family. Kiyah was as charming as Mazia had promised she would be; Jed was boisterous and full of himself, but amusing with his over-exaggerated stories. If Jesus hadn’t been mistaken, the man had seemed…drawn to him, his gaze constantly flickering to Jesus whenever he’d laughed at one of the man’s jokes. Something to dwell on later, to be sure. 

Even Simon had made an appearance when they’d crowded into the cafeteria for dinner, more lax than Jesus had ever seen him.

And, as Mazia had promised, the lavish sofa in Negan’s previous quarters was almost as comfortable as a real bed. He’d slept much better than he will on the forest floor that night. 

There’s a noise to his left, a rustling in the underbrush, faint but distinct. Jesus pauses, head cocking to the side, listening. It lasts only a moment, but long enough for him to realize that whatever it is, it’s heavier than mere prey. 

He’s at the nearest tree trunk in an instant, shimmying up, gloved hands grasping firm branches as he propels his body into the leaves. They are sparse, but it is still fairly dark thanks to the dawn, and as long as no one looks too hard, he’ll blend in.

He settles on a sturdy branch and waits, breathing quiet and level, blue eyes scanning the earth beneath him.

After a long moment, a walker slips from the trees, and then another, and another, until there are five. He watches them silently, strangely unnerved by them. Something is not quite _right_ with them, and when he at last puts his finger on it, they’re almost gone.

There is no groaning. There is no clumsy, shambling gate. In fact, they’re unnervingly quiet, piquing his interest thoroughly. He waits several breaths after they’ve faded into the trees, and then he drops to the earth, swiftly stooping to inspect the tracks they left behind.

No drag marks. No unsteady, uneven pacing. 

Frowning, Jesus slips into the underbrush after them, one hand hovering near the gun holstered at his hip. He breathes in cool air through the bandanna that covers his mouth, eyes flicking up briefly to notice that the sky is beginning to turn a faint shade of pink. Soon, the sun will rise.

He doesn’t know how long he tracks them; it’s not an easy feat. They’re so very quiet, until he begins to suspect that they are not walkers at all. But he’d seen the rotting flesh covering them, the shabby, torn clothes. If not walkers, then what?

Or, he supposes: who?

In the end, they stop at a little camp nestled deep in the forest, somewhere squarely between Hilltop and the Sanctuary, he thinks. He shimmies up a tree again for a better view, spotting multiple tents and moving bodies.

He sees them shed the strange things they wear – some kind of skinsuits, the smell of them making his nose wrinkle even through his bandanna. They’d _definitely_ gotten them from walkers.

The group disappears into one of the tents, the largest set up, so he begins to observe the rest of the men and women milling about. One of them is a colossus of a man, seemingly with a bad temper, judging by the way he snaps and snarls at others. It also becomes clear that he must be high-ranking, if not the leader, by the way the others cower away from his rage.

He’s so focused on observing them that he almost misses it, but movement behind one of the tents catches his eye. Squinting, Jesus carefully, so carefully, maneuvers from the thick branch he’s on to a slightly thinner branch in the next tree over. It creaks beneath his weight and he freezes, but it seems as if no one has heard.

And the movement…just as he thought, it is Tara. She’s unarmed, shivering, the light of the rising sun highlighting streaks in her dark hair. Her hands are tied behind her back, ankles roped, and he frowns grimly. He is outnumbered, but he cannot leave her there to her grisly fate.

He waits until the clamor of pots banging, and people rising, drowns out the noise of his descent down the tree. Slowly, carefully, Jesus snakes around the back of the little camp, where Tara is bound behind the largest tent. 

His stomach presses against the earth as he lowers himself and begins to crawl, his pace painstakingly slow as he has to stop and wait for members of the group to pass. It takes everything within him not to leap up in rage when the burly man comes to check on Tara, taunting her and backhanding her across the face when she does not reply.

At last, though, the man leaves, and Jesus slips towards her. Her eyes snap to him, sensing movement, and he can see her shoulders sag in relief. She’s gagged, too, and weaponless, which only makes him angrier. But somehow he manages to stay calm as he crawls to her side, unsheathing a knife from his belt. He rips the cloth from her mouth and saws at her restraints, and when she’s free, he coaxes her down into a similar position to his own and gives her his knife.

Together, they begin to crawl back towards the cover of the trees. And damn it all, they are so close when a cry raises, the group clearly having noticed Tara’s escape.

There’s no time to crawl now; they’re in the open, and they’ve been spotted. Jesus yanks Tara to her feet and drags her after him as the sound of gunfire shatters the silence of the morning.

The reach the treeline, and then they’re running, feet pounding as the group gives pursuit. Jesus can hear them fanning out behind him, clearly preparing to ambush them. He and Tara splash through a stream, and he reaches out to grasp her hand, pulling her along as they turn to follow the stream, which slowly widens to a river. The water will keep them safe on one side, at least.

He can hear the group closing in around them, herding them – but towards what?

It doesn’t take him long to find out. He comes to an abrupt, skidding halt, dirt and rocks flying over the ravine that stretches before them. There’s the roar of falls somewhere to their right, leading down to a murky pool, the current clearly strong and obvious even from where he stands. 

A curse slips from Tara’s lips, but then they’re moving again, he leading her towards the sound of the waterfall. The earth turns rocky and treacherous beneath their feet, but they scrabble over it, the sound of their pursuers growing louder.

It’s clear the group thinks that they will have them when they reach the falls. But Jesus is determined to not die here today, to save Tara and to make it back to Hilltop, to fulfill his promise to Mazia that he will protect her while Negan cannot. So when the falls comes into view, dropping seemingly over the edge of the earth, he does not slow.

“Jesus – “ Tara gasps, trying to stop, but he tugs her with him, their momentum propelling them. His boots slip on the rocks, and he scrambles forward. Tara screams as they hit the ground hard and go rolling over the edge of the drop-off. There’s the sound of a gun firing, a jarring pain in his arm, open air above and below and all around them. They’re falling fast now, tumbling towards the roaring water far below, and Jesus _prays_ that there aren’t jagged rocks waiting.

His body hits the frigid water hard, stealing the breath from his lungs, jarring his bones. A moment later the current has him, sweeping him downstream. Tara’s hand is still in his, and he crushes it in a brutal grip, refusing to let her go. 

Sometimes, the current lets him up for air, gasping, only to be drawn back under. And just when he begins to think that this was a mistake, that they will drown, he feels a boot catch on scattering pebbles beneath the water.

Land.

He lurches to the side, dragging Tara with him, boots digging into the mud below. It drags at him, but he persists, stubbornly tugging and swimming until his head emerges. He’s gasping, soaked, exhausted, as he pulls her onto the shore with him. They collapse side-by-side, coughing, gasping, their chests rising and falling with desperate need.

It seems like hours later, though it must be only moments, when Tara speaks.

“We need to warn Rick,” she gasps, squeezing his hand hard. Jesus returns the gesture. “They’re dangerous – they’re planning to take down all of the communities. They call themselves The Whisperers.”


	32. Chapter 32

  


_The sun shines out of my eyes_  
_It will not go down tonight_  
_And the world counts loudly to 10_  


I sit beside Simon, face deceptively impassive, ankles crossed beneath the table, brushing Carter's side.

Across from me is Maggie, Jesus at her side. To my right is a woman who I have never met before, named Tara. On her other side is Rick and Daryl. To Simon's left is Ezekiel, and a man with cropped dark hair - Richard. 

Tara and Jesus have just finished informing us about a new, and seemingly very dangerous, foe - the Whisperers. Tara's voice is hoarse, bless her heart, when she finishes detailing the deaths of her companions and her week-long imprisonment. 

When her voice at last falters, we sit in silence, considering. 

Ezekiel is the first to speak. "This is grave news, indeed."

A snort comes from Daryl’s end of the table, followed by a, “ya think?”

“We need to nip this in the bud,” Jesus insists, and Maggie nods.

“We need to learn how many of them there are, first,” Simon replies, leaning back in his chair, a hand lifting to brush along his mustache. “How many bases. The main threats. All of that. We can’t just charge in blind.”

“But we can’t let them keep attacking groups, either,” Rick insists, jaw set in his anger. “Surely there has to be more of us than there are them, if we work together.”

“We don’t know that,” Simon says.

“So what are you suggesting?” Rick snaps back. “That we sit by and do nothing as they pick us off, one by one?”

I feel my temper rise; it’s difficult to stamp it down. Although I’m no longer vomiting in the mornings, my terrible mood swings have not relented. I try to remind myself that I am pregnant and ornery, clenching my teeth shut as my hand drifts down to my growing stomach.

I wish Negan was here. Somehow, someway, he’d take care of everything.

I want to see him again, more than anything. But I don’t know if I can get Rick to agree to it a second time. Before I can stop myself, I’m nibbling at my already raw lips, my gaze sliding to Jesus where he sits scratching at a bandage on his right arm. Would he help me? Could he convince Rick?

“…have to be careful about how we proceed with this,” Maggie is saying. “Maybe the leader – Alpha, you said, Tara? – can be reasoned with.”

But Tara shakes her head. “I don’t think so. You can try, but…she was brutal.”

“There has to be something we can use against her,” Rick muses. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Tara offers in a tiny voice, “she has a daughter. Lydia.”

Both hands go to my stomach now, my grasp protective as I wind my arms around the bump. Maggie looks equally uncomfortable. Is this what it will be like, raising a child in the new world? Constantly fretting and worrying that our enemies might rip he or she away to use as collateral? 

“So we go speak with them,” Rick says, breaking the silence. “We make sure they’re not going to cause trouble. We offer to include them in our trade agreement.”

“And if they turn us down?” I ask.

“Then we consider the rest of our options.”

“When do we leave?” asks Daryl, grim.

“Now.”

“I’ll go in Maggie’s place. She needs to get back to Hershel,” Jesus offers, and the woman nods, seeming comfortable with that. 

“I’ll take Tara back to Alexandria,” says Maggie, eyes flickering sympathetically towards where Tara is nodding. “You look exhausted.”

“Richard and I shall accompany you to speak with Alpha,” Ezekiel declares in his strange, regal manner. 

“I’ll grab Jed,” Simon is saying, but I shake my head.

“I’ll go.”

“No,” say Simon and Jesus simultaneously. 

“Yes,” I respond, my tone equally stubborn.

Simon immediately starts on his usual spiel. “If Negan knew – “

“Negan isn’t here,” I remind him, not looking to Rick, who I can feel gazing at me – much like everyone else around the table. But I have eyes only for Simon. “I get it; I’m pregnant. Soon, I’ll be too wide to even fit through the Sanctuary’s doors. But right now, nothing is guaranteed, and I want to be there when you meet this…Alpha. Bring Jed so he can babysit me if it makes you feel better. But I’m going – even if I have to sneak into a truck, or follow you the whole way there.”

“I’m going to stick you in a cell,” Simon intones, his ire obvious. “If you keep pushing me. You seem determined to throw yourself into danger at every turn; how the fuck am I supposed to keep an eye on you like I _swore_ I would if you’re always trying to dash off and get yourself killed?”

“You’ll be there, so you’ll still be able to keep an eye on me, technically.”

“Mazia,” he warns. 

“I’m three months pregnant, not nine. And by your logic, what if they followed Jesus and Tara back here? What if they wait for you to leave, and then attack the compound?”

“There’s going to be a hell of a lot more people here to defend you than there will be out there.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m going.”

“I’m in charge, and I say you’re not,” Simon remarks, smirking insufferably as he leans back and folds his arms behind his head.

\---

Thirty minutes later, I’m reclining in the backseat of the Jeep, with a distinctly disgruntled Simon driving. Jed is in the passenger seat, trying to keep himself from laughing at Simon’s angry expression, and Carter sits beside me, panting.

“Fucking women,” Simon is murmuring under his breath as he steers the Jeep after the truck ahead of us, containing Rick, Daryl, and Jesus. 

Behind us is Ezekiel and Richard, the rumble of the miniature caravan strangely comforting as we move along the road. Jesus is the only one who knows where the Whisperer’s camp is located, and after an uncomfortably short ride that makes me realize how very close the group has settled, the truck ahead of us pulls off to the side of the road. 

“You and Jed are staying in the car,” Simon snaps as he stops the Jeep behind Rick’s truck, yanking the keys out of the ignition.

“What if the Whisperers come while you’re all tromping through the forest?” I ask. “You’re the one who made the point that we don’t know how many of them there are.”

“She has a point,” Jed says, making Simon close his eyes, one hand lifting to his temple.

“Fine. Get yourself killed. See if I give a shit,” Simon growls as he pushes open his door with a little too much force, sliding out of the car.

“Men are so temperamental,” I comment as I move to follow, making Jed laugh.

When everyone is gathered by the cars, we set off into the trees, following Jesus’ lead. His steps are nearly as quiet as my own – maybe one day I’ll find another pair of the pliant, muted boots I favor to give to him. 

Despite his irritation with me, Simon stays close, his pace slowed to walk alongside me. Carter is on my other side, ears pricked forward atop his skull, alert. 

The Whisperers find us, before we find them. They bleed from the trees, the sight of their rotting skinsuits alarming – if it weren’t for Jesus and Tara’s warning, I’d think that they were some kind of advanced biters.

They surround us in a semi-circle, six of them to our eight. Simon moves forward to stand in front of me, beside Rick, and Jed takes his vacated place at my side. I can feel Ezekiel and Richard behind me; I’m not ignorant to the fact that our little group has formed a square with Carter and I in the center. 

“We don’t mean any harm,” Rick is saying; it’s hard for me not to roll my eyes or scoff at the claim. It’s hard to remind myself that we’re on the same side – for now. “We want to speak with Alpha.”

The men in skinsuits exchange silent glances, and one of them jerks his head in a motion for us to follow him, he and two others peeling away to lead, the other three falling in behind us as we begin walking. Carter is clearly unnerved, snuffling at the smell of the rotting skins as he glances constantly to the Whisperers ahead of and behind us. 

They lead us to a clearing surrounded by close trees and brambles, and I pause, taking in the sight before me. There’s a very large amount of tents, a tiny fire crackling in the middle, and…and biters tied around the perimeter, growling and snapping. 

They lead us through the captive, rotting bodies, and towards the largest tent, surrounded by several smaller ones. The man holds up his hand for us to wait as he ducks inside of the tent; a moment later he steps out and scoots to the side as the flaps part, and a women steps from within.

She’s tall and lean, with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes that scan our gathered group swiftly. Her gaze flicks down to Carter, brow quirking, and then back up to look from Simon to Rick.

“What’s this?” She asks, in a strange feminine monotone. Then she spots Jesus, head cocking like a bird’s, her smile mirthless. “I recognize you. You’re the one who escaped with our little prisoner.”

“One of _our_ scouts,” Rick says, voice as cold and hard as steel. 

“I see,” the woman – Alpha – replies. There’s more rustling from the tent, and I glance within to see a young girl with long, blonde hair peering out, her eyes the same shade as Alpha’s. Lydia, I assume. “And I suppose you’re here for retribution?”

“Not exactly,” Simon volunteers. “Well. I guess that depends on your answer to our questions, actually. We have a little arrangement going on with the surrounding communities – a four-way trade agreement. We’ve just had a _hell_ of a war, and we’re really not looking forward to getting back into that shitshow again.”

“So you want us to become allies,” Alpha muses, shifting to fold her arms over her chest. “Interesting. What do we get out of it?”

“Aside from supplies? Protection, of course,” Ezekiel rumbles from behind me. 

“The Whisperers aren’t lacking for that,” comes a deep rumble, and I think that my eyes nearly pop out of my skull at the size of the man who sidles up beside Alpha, ominous and imposing in his skinsuit. 

“Meet Beta,” Alpha says with a quirk of her lips. 

“A pleasure,” says Ezekiel, and I nearly snort, barely managing to choke back the noise. Still, Alpha’s eyes slide to me, and then down to my stomach. Her gaze unnerves me, my fingers drifting down towards my knives as Jesus shifts closer.

“You’re pregnant,” she observes. “A strange time to welcome a child into the world, to be sure.”

“Shit happens."

“Yes, it does.” She is quiet for a moment, and then she looks back to Rick. “I admire that you didn’t burst in with guns blazing for the men you lost, but the Whisperers do not make alliances. We take what we wish to, we walk alongside the undead, and we have no reason to fix a situation that is not broken.”

“That’s a dangerous way to live,” Rick replies.

Beta’s harsh laughter makes my skin crawl, my teeth gritting as the air around us grows tense. A low, long growl slips from Carter’s throat. “ _Every_ way to live is dangerous now. And it was stupid of you all to come here expecting compliance.”

“Surely there’s some way – “ Ezekiel begins, but then there is an explosion of movement, and everything descends into chaos.

Beta surges towards Simon, drawing a large, lethal bowie knife that Simon barely avoids with a curse. There’s gunfire everywhere as I swirl, sliding my beloved Ruger than Negan gifted me with so long ago from its holster as Jesus’ hand goes to my waist, ushering me forward and towards the trees.

Whisperers are cutting the biters free left and right; I whirl around the gaping jaws of one, drawing a knife with my free hand and driving it into its skull. Gore covers my hand as I rip the knife free, already moving, ducking beneath the flying fist of a Whisperer whom Carter promptly dispatches, fangs tearing at the flesh of the man’s throat.

“I told you this was a _bad fucking idea_ ”, Simon is roaring somewhere behind me. I hit the tree line with Jesus on one side of me and Daryl on the other, the tracker firing bolts from his crossbow - at last recovered from Dwight - as he turns to glance over his shoulder. 

“To the car, Mazia,” Jesus says from behind me, pushing me to move faster. I’m already winded – damned pregnancy – but I surge forwards, hearing Jed cursing somewhere to our left, the sound of a gun firing moments later. 

A knife whizzes past, slicing a shallow cut into the skin of my neck, making me hiss as I turn. Alpha is there, dogging our steps, though she can’t avoid Jesus when he whirls and aims an impressively swift kick at her, his boot catching her chest. 

My only warning of Beta’s approach is a furious snarl, and then the colossal man is there with us, landing a punch to the side of Jesus’ head that makes me wince. I lift my gun and fire, arm jerking as the bullet hits his shoulder. He turns on me then, cursing, advancing menacingly as I scramble backwards. Carter surges past me, leaping forward to sink his teeth deep into the hand that Beta clutches the bowie with. 

“ _Mutt,_ ” Beta growls, his fists colliding with the side of Carter’s head again and again. But my dog doesn’t release him, hind legs barely brushing the ground as he rips and jerks at Beta’s hand. 

My next bullet finds its way home in Beta’s left hip; I can’t fire again without risking hitting Carter, but luckily the behemoth falls, and I order Carter to my side with a sharp “ _hier_ ”. 

Simon comes charging through the trees then, a body clutched in his arms. I’m startled to see that it’s Lydia, her fists furiously pounding on his broad chest to no avail as she calls for her mother. But Alpha is engaged in a fight with both Rick and Ezekiel, unable to help.

“Fucking _go_ ,” Simon snaps at me, and I turn to run, no longer bothering to try to be quiet as my feet fly across the earth.

I burst from the trees and make for the Jeep, tumbling into the backseat, my breath whooshing from me as Jed barrels in after me, his heavy body smashing into mine.

“Sorry,” he grunts, slamming the door shut after Carter leaps in. Simon struggles for a moment in his attempts to wrestle Lydia into the front seat, until finally he swears and brings the muzzle of his gun down hard on her head. She goes limp as he shoves her into the Jeep, before vaulting over the hood to settle behind the driver’s seat, the car roaring to life.

I see Rick and Daryl dive into the truck ahead of us; a moment later Ezekiel vaults into the bed, ducking to avoid a spray of bullets from a gun that Beta has salvaged. Richard is nowhere to be seen – I choke out a protest as Simon slams on the gas, belatedly realizing that Jesus is not with us. But then Jed chokes out, “the roof”. Startled, I roll the window down and press back against Jed, sighing with relief when Jesus slips into the backseat with us.

“Are you part spider?” I huff, and he grins, but then his gaze falls to Jed and I turn. He’s nursing a wide, deep gash on his stomach, blood gushing down his legs. If we can get him back to Carson swiftly, then I suspect the wound will not be fatal. Still, I peel off my jacket and press it hard against the cut, making him hiss.

“Sorry. I’d tell you to talk so I know you’re alright, but then you’d never shut up.”

His laughter is reassuring, and I turn to glance behind us, seeing no sign of the Whisperers. I hope that Ezekiel was smart enough to take the keys from the abandoned car.

The Jeep roars as Simon pushes it to its limit, following on Rick’s tail. It doesn’t take us long to reach the gates of Hilltop, which slide open quickly, the men on guard clearly alarmed.

We screech to a jarring halt that has me glaring at Simon, but I say nothing; I can sense his fury as he faults from the Jeep, striding towards Rick with his jaw set. 

“Let’s get Jed to Carson,” Jesus says, and together we hoist Jed out of the car, supporting him between the two of us as Maggie comes vaulting from inside of one of the buildings. 

We pass her as she moves to speak with the others, Jesus steering us towards a large trailer. I grunt as we haul Jed up the stairs and inside, startling Carson, who glances up with wide eyes. But he’s moving immediately, taking my place at Jed’s side, easing the man onto one of the few beds in the room.

I’m exhausted and breathing like a blown horse as I collapse into the nearest chair, letting my head loll back to rest against the wall. Still, I’d escaped with only minimal injuries – a few bruises and the shallow cut on my neck.

“Are you alright?” I ask Jesus when he flops into the chair beside me, and he nods.

“You? Your neck is bleeding.”

“The knife only grazed me.”

“The baby?”

“Fine.”

It takes a while, but finally Carson stands and exhales. Jed’s wound has been cleaned, stitched, and wrapped; the large man is sleeping, a mixture of exhaustion and pain medication fueling his rest. 

Carson turns to us, his gaze sliding over me first, swift, assessing. “Let’s get that cut on your neck cleaned. Did you suffer any blows to the stomach?”

“No.”

“Good. When all of this is over, I’d like to perform an ultrasound.”

The thought both thrills and scares me as he begins dabbing at the cut on my neck with a warm cloth dotted with some kind of soap. What will I feel, when I’m finally able to see Negan and I’s child, safely nestled inside of me? 

When he’s finished with the cut, he lets us go with a stern warning to be careful. I trail Jesus as we move back outside to the gathered group, where I promptly kneel and begin to inspect Carter. Despite Beta’s punches, he seems no worse for the wear, lifting his head to lick affectionately at my face.

“Well that was fucked,” Daryl comments in his usual growl. “What do we do with the kid?”

“Lydia? You have Lydia?” Maggie demands, clearly not having been informed of this yet. Simon is undeterred by her glare as he moves to the Jeep and effortlessly lifts the unconscious girl, her long blonde hair swinging beneath her lolling head.

“We could keep her here,” Jesus suggests, “until we figure out what to do.”

In the end, Maggie agrees, and Simon passes Lydia to Jesus, who disappears into the main house with the girl in his arms.

“Richard?” Rick asks, the question aimed at Ezekiel.

“Felled,” the man says sadly, his dreads shifting as he shakes his head. “A biter.” 

“What do we do about Lydia?” Maggie demands, clearly not ready to let the matter go. “The Whisperers will come after us for taking her.”

“They were going to come after us regardless,” Rick replies. “We keep her here under watch, for now. And we need to discuss what steps to take next.”

We’re all silent for a moment, until at last Simon turns to assess me, his gaze swift and his voice rough when he asks, “How’s Jed?”

“Fine. Sleeping. Carson stitched him up.”

He nods, lifting a hand to run it through his thinning hair. “We need to get back to the Sanctuary. We can leave him here, until he’s well enough to come back?”

The question is aimed at Maggie, who nods. “Of course. But it might be better for you and Mazia to stay the night at Hilltop. We don’t know if you were followed yet, and it’s better to not lead them to two communities in one day. The same goes for you, Rick.”

“Carson wanted to do an ultrasound, anyways. Staying for a night will give him time to,” I offer.

Simon doesn’t look thrilled about it, but he agrees. 

I can’t blame him for his unease. It’s difficult not to be unnerved by what we discovered in Alpha and Beta, and I can’t help but wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait and post this tomorrow, buuuut I couldn't!

  


_No, not one man_  
_No, nor ten men_  
_Nor a hundred_  
_Will assuage me_  


At first, Negan isn’t sure what wakes him.

One moment he’s sleeping, dreaming of Mazia, and the next he’s suddenly alert, eyes still closed, feet hanging off of his stupid fucking cot.

There’s a strange niggling feeling creeping along his spine; the room is quiet, but Negan knows that he is not alone. Slowly, his eyes creep open, heavy with sleep, and his hazel gaze slides towards the shadows beyond his cell. 

There’s a single little window high above, and through it, moonlight filters. It gleams off of a figure standing there, and after a long moment Negan’s eyes adjust. Jesus. 

The man is simply watching him, their eyes meeting, and Negan’s lips creep into a slow smirk.

“I’m not really into men, but if you wanna stand there and watch me sleep, by all means.”

Jesus huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t reply. He has something in one of his gloved hands, a little piece of paper that he nervously fiddles with. And then he steps forward, creeping to the edge of the cell, pressing the paper through the bars.

Negan sits up on his cot, untangling his legs from the blanket as he leans forward, pinching the little square between his fingers. His brow furrows as he turns it over, and then his heart lodges firmly in his throat as he stands, quickly moving towards the sole shaft of moonlight that slips through the bars.

“12 weeks” is scrawled at the bottom, and one of his fingers traces the tiny figure in the ultrasound image. A child - _his_ child, so small but the face already clear where he touches it, already so very perfect. Reluctantly he tears his gaze away from the image to look up at Jesus, and he says, “thank you”. Shit, it’s been so long since he’s said that, but he means it. Jesus has given him something precious, and he holds it against his chest as he sighs. “Is it…okay?”

“Carson says it’s completely healthy. It was taken a week ago; he’ll be able to tell Mazia the gender in three or four weeks, if she wants to know.”

He nods, head drooping. It _hurts_ him to not have been there for the first ultrasound, holding Mazia’s hand and staring at the image with her. How he wishes he had been. 

He hasn’t forgotten his promise to escape his prison, but it seems so impossible in that moment, as he mulls over all of the important things he is missing. He hasn’t seen an opportuny – none have arisen. How the _fuck_ is he going to make it back to her? 

“Things have become…dangerous, again.”

Negan’s head snaps up at that, a trickle of fear edging down his spine. “What does that mean?” Had Simon revolted? It wouldn’t surprise Negan, though he doesn’t know how he feels about the idea, knowing that it would place Mazia in harm’s way.

“No. But a new group has popped up, and they’re incredibly hostile.” Negan listens raptly as Jesus fills him in on the Whisperers, the attack the week prior, and Lydia’s imprisonment. He takes it all in with a low whistle, shaking his head. “I bet Rick’s pissin’ his pants right about now.”

Something flashes in Jesus’ eyes at the mention of Rick, his jaw clenching. Interesting.

“Rick believes that we should surge into war with them. I’m not sure if it can be avoided, after we took Lydia, but it’s like he doesn’t even want to _try_. Tensions are rising; we’re spending entirely too much time arguing about how to handle the situation, instead of actually acting.”

The knowledge that there was peace, that Mazia was safe at the Sanctuary, had placated Negan. But now, safety is slipping rapidly away, and it makes him grit his teeth to know that there’s nothing he can do to protect her from harm. “So why are you creeping down here at who-knows-what fucking hour? Surely you didn’t interrupt my beauty sleep to tell me this.”

“No,” Jesus said, and then he wavers. Negan sees it, and he can’t help the way his heart begins to beat harder, as if _hoping_. “Things…are very different now. Believe me, I’m the last person who’d normally say this – well, no, maybe Morgan is – but big things are about to happen, and I don’t think a passive approach will be an option for much longer.”

He sighs, a ragged sound, and Negan tilts his head as he watches the man move towards the door of the cell. And then - _fuck him_ , Jesus pulls that familiar fucking key from his coat pocket, clutching it between gloved fingers. “How the hell did you get that?”

“Morgan and I are in agreement,” Jesus responds, glancing up to stare hard at Negan. “I’m not doing this for you. There’s a good chance Rick will _throttle_ me over this. But Mazia needs you. The Sanctuary needs you. And _we_ might need you.”

Negan can’t help himself. “Can you say that again, just a little slower?”

“I need you to give me your word that you will continue to uphold the agreement between the communities when this is all over.”

His _word_. Negan almost laughs, but he can almost taste freedom, and he doesn’t want to give the man any reason to change his mind. Besides, he’s become…comfortable with the idea of peace during the months he’d been imprisoned. So he nods, and steps back to yank on his boots and jacket as Jesus inserts the key into the lock.

It turns with a loud, liberating click. The door swings open.

Negan steps out of the cell.

\--- 

The moon is high and full, the clouds themselves seeming to avoid it. Negan sucks in a breath of fresh air, letting it fill his lungs. Shit, he missed his freedom. The feel of the cool spring air against his ungloved hand, the soft crunch of grass beneath his boots, the crisp air that fills his lungs: these are the things that he relishes now as he follows Jesus, the two of them quietly making their way towards Alexandria’s gate.

Morgan is waiting there in the shadows, slowly but silently pulling the gate open. There’s a car waiting just beyond, and as he comes level with Morgan, he pauses for a moment to flash the man his winning smile. Morgan’s expression is grim, but he nods, and Negan follows Jesus the rest of the way to the car, sliding into the passenger seat. 

The men say nothing as Jesus starts the car, swiftly sliding down the road. Negan props his boots up on the dashboard and watches Alexandria disappear from the rearview mirror. _Good fucking riddance._

He still can’t believe that he’s free – can’t believe that men who were once his enemies helped him accomplish the feat. It was almost too easy, and maybe that’s why Negan feels a creeping prick of unease.

They’re halfway to the Sanctuary when a truck comes squealing around the bend ahead of them, headlights sweeping across their faces, making them curse. For a moment, Negan thinks that Rick has already discovered his absence – but no. The truck is moving in the opposite direction, _towards_ Alexandria, and it’s…familiar. Belatedly, he realizes it’s from the Sanctuary.

Jesus has surmised the same, biting his lip as he glances in the rearview mirror, though he does not stop the car. “That can’t be good.”

“Sure as fuck can’t be,” Negan agrees, frowning. What would send someone from the Sanctuary barreling off to Alexandria in the middle of the night?

He curses, turning sharply towards Jesus, who startles. “What if the Whisperers are attacking one of the compounds?”

“Shit.” There’s no guarantee, but Jesus grips the wheel harder, his foot easing down on the gas. The car is practically flying, and Negan prays that no fucking biters come stumbling into their path at the speed they’re going.

They don’t. They make it to the Sanctuary in one piece – though it’s more than Negan can say for the compound.

There is smoke unfurling from one side of the building, and the echo of gunfire reaches his ears even from the small distance. 

“Goddamn it,” he spits, already reaching for the handle of the door, prepared to fling it open the moment they stop. The gates of the Sanctuary are open, and there are enough biters inside to make his throat constrict.

But no – not all of them are biters. Some of them are – made clear by a rotting, shambling mess that sinks its teeth into a woman as they pass. But some of the others are who he assumes to be the Whisperers, in those stupid fucking skinsuits. It will only make them easier to identify when he’s bashing their skulls in.

The moment the car stops, he’s moving, but Jesus reaches out and places a hand on his arm to still him. Negan whirls to snap at him, but stops, gaze sliding down to the gun that the man is holding out to him. He bares his teeth in a snarl-like smile as he takes it, and then he’s moving, exploding onto the scene.

“Hilltop is already here,” he hears Jesus call to him over the roar of the battle; he’s glad to hear it. Already he’s firing bullets left and right, and when the clip is empty, he stoops to yank a vicious looking knife from the corpse of a man, swinging it at any of the skin-wearing fuckers who stand in his way. He needs to find Mazia – needs to know that she’s safe, so he slices a path to the compound, storming through the door.

The first person he spots is Simon, who’s roaring orders to men and women, ushering guns and weapons into their hands. He turns, hair sticking up, eyes wild, and then he spots Negan. Simon freezes as they gaze at one another, and then suddenly he grins, an abrupt laugh bursting from his lips.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he says, tossing Negan another gun. “Welcome back, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where the fuck is Mazia?”

“Haven’t since her since this fucking carnival started.”

Negan growls and ducks towards the stairs, flicking the safety off of the gun. The shot echoes loudly when he puts a bullet between the eyes of a Whisperer on the stairs, viciously kicking the body as he passes it. 

A floor passes, two, three. He vaults onto the landing of the fifth floor, boots pounding as he sprints towards the last door. Belatedly he realizes that he doesn’t even know if Mazia still stays in the room, but the moment he opens the door, her familiar lavender scent reaches him. It’s faint, and his heart sinks, but still he calls for her, bursting into the bedroom, finding onto rumpled sheets and hastily discarded pajamas. She’s gone.

He spits out a string of curses as he moves back into the office, but then something catches his eye, and he stops.

Lucille is propped against the wall, barbed wire gleaming. His steps are slow as he approaches her, tucking the knife into his belt in favor of lifting his beloved bat. The weight of her feels so damn good in his hand, and he props her on his shoulder where she belongs as he turns, striding from the room.

He pounds back down the stairs, wheeling into the rec room, the sound of fighting drawing him within. There’s a staircase to the immediate left, leading up to a little walkway that Negan once stood upon to address the men and women of the Sanctuary. He vaults up the stairs to the landing, stopping only once his hips press against the railing. He has a better view now, and immediately he spots Carter in the fray, snarling and snapping viciously at anyone who draws too near to a sofa that has been pushed against a back corner of the room, a small space behind it, a gun perched upon the back of the cushions.

He recognizes the wielder as Maggie, crouched behind the makeshift barricade, only the top of her head and her eyes visible as she fires at anyone who draws too close. And then beside her there’s a flash of ebony that makes his heart freeze.

Mazia pokes her head over the edge of the couch, tawny eyes sweeping the room. His gaze is intense and heated where it falls upon her, and she stills, her face lifting slowly.

Her eyes meet his. He sees the way she rises just slightly before he holds up a hand, gesturing downwards. _Stay._ She looks healthy, entirely unharmed, and it makes the hard little knot that had settled in his stomach loosen a fraction.

It takes everything inside of him for him to tear his gaze away from her, towards the fray. There’s some massive fucker in a skinsuit wreaking havoc, slicing viciously with a bowie at Simon, who’s barely holding his own. And near to the large man is a bald woman, radiating an air of authority and confidence that assures him that she is Alpha. 

He lifts his gun and fires; the bullet clips her shoulder and she jerks, her gaze flying up to meet his as the man beside her – Beta, he assumes – pauses, glaring up at the walkway as well. 

The room has gone oddly quiet, the fighting pairs all having paused as well, as if his very fucking presence has changed the tides. He sees awe, surprise, and joy upon the faces of the Saviors.

He looks back to Alpha, swinging Lucille down to land on the railing, barbed wire clanging noisily as his mouth stretches into a wide, manic grin. His leather jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, his legs spread wide in a domineering stance, his boots planted firmly upon the concrete beneath him. 

“Hi,” he booms, voice echoing. “I’m Negan.”


	34. Chapter 34

  


_Well forgive us_  
_These smiles on our faces_  
_You’ll know what power is_  
_When we are done_  


It is perhaps the most terrifying moment of my life, watching Negan go toe-to-toe with Beta.

The man towers well over Negan, though my wonderful partner holds his own. I can see the anger blaze in his eyes as Beta hacks at Lucille with his bowie again and again, leaving chips that mar the bat’s once flawless surface. 

From my place huddled behind the couch with Maggie, I can see the two of them clearly on the balcony above. Simon is fending off Alpha now, who he’s much better matched to face; I can hear her lethal hiss from their place dangerously close to the couch when she demands, “Where is Lydia?”

Simon's only response is a snarled "fuck you".

Carter’s gaze is tracing their battle as he paces back and forth in front of our makeshift shield, not willing to assist Simon if it means leaving me vulnerable – unless I order him to. 

For now, Simon is holding Alpha off effortlessly, so I don’t. Maggie is out of bullets, and we’re vulnerable. I consider making a dash for the door – I’d been in the rec room when the fighting had started after the noises of the gate falling had drawn me out of bed and downstairs, and I hadn’t the chance to escape before she’d found me hiding there. I’d hoped to find Kiyah inside, but she is nowhere to be seen; I pray that she’s safely in her room with James.

“We have to get out of here,” Maggie murmurs under her breath, apparently on the same wavelength as me. “Without weapons, we’re sitting ducks.”

“We’ll have to just make a run for it,” I say, though I detest the idea of not being able to trace Negan’s movements. My gaze flicks up to him, watching as he ducks beneath a vicious slice of Beta’s, aiming a hard elbow to the man’s stomach. Beta only grunts and keeps swinging. 

“He’ll be alright,” Maggie says gently, keeping all opinion regarding Negan’s escape to herself. “Ready?”

I nod, and her hand slips down to grasp mine. At once we move, vaulting over the sofa, running for the door. I hear Carter on my heels, following as close as he dares.

We make it to the door, and I’m almost out when I hear a voice: Alpha’s.

“And where do you think you’re going?” It rises over the noise of the other pairs; I glance behind me swiftly to see her dark blue eyes pinned to me, her grin near-feral. Simon is nowhere in sight; I hope that he’s alright.

“ _Go_ ,” I gasp to Maggie, and she begins to sprint, pulling me down the hall with her. I hear boots behind us – Alpha is following. “Kitchens – knives. Right at the next door.”

We vault into the cafeteria with precious seconds to spare; I take the lead, tugging Maggie around tables, bursting into the kitchen just as I hear Alpha enter the cafeteria, moving alarmingly fast towards us. The knives are on the far side of the kitchen, locked in a cabinet to prevent newbies from nabbing them. I know where the spare set of keys are hidden – the perks of Kiyah and James working in the kitchen – but Alpha will be on us any minute, and I don’t delusion myself into thinking she’s not armed.

The kitchen, at least, is huge; after a quick scan, I tug Maggie beneath one of the counters tucked into the corner, directly across from the cabinet of knives – and directly beneath the drawer that hides the keys. With a quick gesture from me, Carter sidles in behind us and lays down, making himself as compact and quiet as possible. He will be my biggest asset in the precious moments that follow.

We’re silent, the sound of the kitchen door opening sending a shiver down my spine. I hear several soft footsteps, and then Alpha halts.

“Come out, come out, little lamb,” she purrs under her breath, and Maggie squeezes my hand. “Come now. Don’t be shy.”

I hardly dare to breathe as she begins to prowl around the kitchen, the quiet scrape of her boots against the floor the only thing alerting me to her whereabouts. 

“I saw the way that man looked at you, when he arrived. Negan, wasn’t it? A bit showy and terribly obnoxious. But if I’m not mistaken – and I don’t believe that I am – I’d guess that he’s the father of your child.” And then even her footsteps go silent; she’s stopped moving, or rectified her mistake. “Perhaps we can arrange a trade? You give me Lydia, and I won’t cut the little parasite from your stomach before it has a chance to live. A life for a life.”

Rage trickles through my veins, slow but strong, making me clench my teeth. I will not forget her threats. Not ever.

“I’m sure Negan would be terribly upset to lose you, before you’ve even had a chance to reunite. Where has he been, I wonder? Surely he would have come along with that foolish little welcoming party if he’d been able to. He doesn’t seem like the type to miss out on the action. Trouble in paradise?”

She talks too much, her ego perhaps larger than Negan’s, which I never would have thought to be possible. But I have no time to reflect longer on the matter; a flash of boots shows to the right, and I silently press further back. She hasn’t spotted us yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ll have to make a grab for the keys and dash for the knives while hoping Carter can distract her long enough.

But just as my lips part to command Carter to attack, the sound of the kitchen door slamming open makes me jump, Maggie doing the same. I watch as the boots turn away from me, and then there’s loud, mocking laughter that makes my heart drop into the pit of my stomach with relief.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not hunting down the woman carrying my kid.” Negan’s voice echoes in the kitchen, a dangerous undertone lurking beneath his words. “Because that would be _so incredibly_ fucking stupid.” 

“Pity. We were just about to play a little game,” Alpha responds. I hear the sound of multiple pairs of boots, again and again, suggesting that the two are circling each other warily. “Perhaps you and I can make a deal, instead. Give me my daughter, and I won’t make you watch while I gut your little girlfriend.”

“You’re a fucking idiot. Your daughter isn’t even here – but now the community that _does_ have her has been alerted. I’ll tell them to let her know that it was her mommy who’s responsible when they’re cutting off one of her hands.”

I glance sharply towards Maggie, but she shakes her head. He’s only goading Alpha.

“Besides,” Negan continues. “While you were chasing down someone who you _really_ shouldn’t target, reinforcements rolled in. Your Whisperers are scattering like fucking cockroaches. That big fucker – Beta, right? – he was a bitch to handle, but he looked a little unsteady on his feet after a few whacks from Lucille. Can’t believe his skull held up; what do you feed him, straight steroids?”

“Did you kill him?” Her voice is strangely unemotional.

“Unfortunately fucking not. Big bastard got away – but he might have a little brain damage now. Well, more than before.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the scraping of boots, a grunt from Alpha, the sound of wood meeting a blade. I move, slipping out from under the counter, Carter exploding behind me. “ _Sturm_ ” is all it takes; just like with Enid he whirls, hindlegs bunching and flexing beneath him as they propel the rest of his body forward. He’s airborne for a moment, and then his paws land on the top of the counter, scrabbling for purchase before he finds his balance and leaps again, never pausing. I’m fumbling for the keys as my eyes flick up briefly to watch him, just as my fingers move to the underside of the drawer, finding them taped beneath. 

Carter’s forepaws lift, aimed for Alpha’s shoulder. She hasn’t seen him – she’s focused on Negan, blocking blow after powerful blow, her arms trembling beneath the brute force that he swings Lucille with. There’s fury in his eyes, a threat, a promise of death; his hair is mused and wild, blood pulsing from a gash in his shoulder that is sure to have come from Beta’s bowie, another more shallow slice trickling crimson from his left thigh. But still he is relentless, Lucille swinging down to meet Alpha’s knife, glancing off and catching her forearm at the exact moment that Carter collides with her, fangs closing over her slender clavicle, the snap of the bone reaching me where I stand.

I hear her cry out as I whirl, my back to them as I cross the room and jam the key into the lock on the cabinet. It sticks for a moment but then relents, and my hand darts inside to grab the handle of the largest chef’s knife. In one smooth movement I turn, the blade grasped between my index finger and thumb, my voice ringing out as I bark for Carter to retreat. He lets go, springing away from Alpha, the weight of his body pushing off of hers sending her stumbling forward as Lucille whistles past her skull, narrowly missing.

I pull one long, deep breath into my lungs, and then I hurl the knife. It turns over itself again and again in midair, before burying itself in her back – right where her left lung should be. She gasps, the sound wet and strained as her momentum takes her around Negan before she collides with the wall beside the door hard. Negan whirls, determined not to let her go, but despite her injuries, she’s determined to escape with her life. She goes tumbling through the door, her rattles for air seeming to echo in my skull as Negan disappears through after her. 

There’s a moment of strange silence, and then my gaze flicks to Maggie. She’s out from beneath the counter now, watching with wide eyes, her gaze jumping from the door, to Carter, and then to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, my voice sounding exhausted, shaky. She nods, and I practically deflate, sighing as I slump to the ground, back against the wall, head on my knees. I hear Carter hurry over, and then his fur is brushing my side as he settles beside me. I let one hand drift to his back, running my fingers through his fur.

The sound of the door opening again has me glancing up sharply, but it’s only Negan, Jesus on his heels. Their expressions are grim, suggesting that somehow, Alpha evaded them. I’m not surprised; she’s a wily bitch, and I find myself hoping that one of her various wounds turns out to be fatal.

A shiver of anticipation slips down my spine as I watch Negan’s hazel eyes lift slowly, landing on me. He begins to move forward, barely pausing long enough to lay Lucille on one of the counters before he’s prowling towards me again. I don’t miss how Maggie and Jesus pointedly move to resume their conversation in the cafeteria. 

He kneels in front of me, gloved hand moving to cup my face, bare hand slipping down to rest protectively over my stomach. It’s all it takes to break me; with a little sob, I lurch forward, knocking him on his ass as my arms fly around his waist, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I missed you so much,” I breathe, before the coppery scent of blood makes me sit back in alarm. “Your shoulder – and leg. We need to go to Carson, now.”

“Just hold on a second,” he murmurs, pulling me firmly back against him, head dropping to rest on top of mine. “Just…let me sit here and hold you for one goddamn minute.”

I don’t miss the way his voice cracks on the last word; my heart seizes as I lift my hands to bury my fingers in his hair, tugging his face down until our lips meet. The kiss is slow but passionate, and I feel Negan pour all of his emotions into it, all of the things he cannot say: fear, relief, exhaustion, love. When we at last break away, I’m breathless, and he smiles that familiar smirk as he gazes at me. 

At last he stands, tugging me to my feet, his much larger hand so easily encasing mine. Carter lifts to trail behind us as Negan leads me through the Sanctuary, his steps slow and tired, his breathing labored. Worry pierces my heart for a moment, and almost as if he can feel it, he glances down towards me.

“Don’t look so fuckin’ worried, doll. I just got back to you; I’m not going anywhere so soon.”


	35. Chapter 35

  


_Here I am_  
_Right next to you_  
_And suddenly the world_  
_Is all brand new_  


The infirmary is busier than I’ve ever seen it.

Carson is mumbling under his breath as he moves from patient to patient, but the moment he sees Negan duck through the door, he barks a command at a young man named Thomas – his new assistant, it seems – to pick up where he left off in favor of tending to his recently returned leader.

As Carson ushers Negan to the last remaining bed, I let my gaze sweep the room; Jed is in a bed by the window, where he’s been since he was brought back from Hilltop a few days prior. His injury is giving Carson problems, though the doctor swears the infection is minor and will heal in no time. I’m glad to hear it; Jed _does_ look more alert than he has in days…but perhaps that has something to do with the man in the bed beside his.

Jesus seems to have recently arrived, holding his arm out for Thomas to stitch a wide gash. I don’t want to get in Carson’s way while he focuses on Negan, who I can hear cursing soundly, so I slip over to perch on the edge of Jed’s bed, folding my legs beneath me. 

“I can’t believe you’re not crying like a baby,” I tell Jesus, nodding my head to where Thomas is stitching the skin.

Jesus huffs a laugh. “It’s numbed. Otherwise, I would be.”

“Careful. If Jed sees you crying, he’ll tell the tale to the whole Sanctuary with over-exaggerated details.”

“I would _not_ ,” Jed says, then pauses. “Well. I’d consider it.”

I’m silent for a moment, watching as his gaze lifts to meet Jesus’; if I’m not mistaken, the two men seem to be getting…close. I can’t help the little smile that springs to my lips; it seems as if women aren’t the only gender that catches Jed’s eyes. I shouldn’t be surprised – the man is a massive flirt. 

When Thomas has finished with Jesus, he moves over to me, despite how I protest and try to wave him off.

“Look, Mazia, I understand that you think you’re fine,” he begins in a low voice. “But Negan’s right over there watching me like a hawk. Can I just take a quick look?”

I glance over to see that Negan is indeed watching, hazel eyes boring into mine as Carson works cleaning his shoulder, prepping it for stitching. I flash him a reassuring smile before nodding to Thomas, laying back on the edge of the bed when Jed scoots into a sitting position. 

I take deep, measured breaths as Thomas pulls out a stethoscope, checking my chest and back before settling it on my growing belly, his fingers gently prodding at my stomach as he listens, nodding to himself.

When he pulls away, he gives me a friendly smile. “Everything sounds right to me. I was an RN before this all went down; not exactly an OB-GYN, but I’ve learned a lot from Carson. Are you having any pain?”

“No.”

“Any new symptoms?”

“I tire easier than usual. A little pressure in my stomach, more frequent…ah, bathroom trips. But that’s about it. The nausea doesn’t really bother me as much anymore.”

He nods. “All normal. Your baby is starting to press down on your bladder; those bathroom trips will only become more frequent in the next few months.”

“Lovely,” I remark sarcastically, though it’s lighthearted. 

He laughs, moving to a drawer to withdraw a file from within, opening it to flip through. “Looks like you’ll be coming up on your fourth month soon, according to the records Carson’s kept. You’ll be entering your second trimester. You can expect more fatigue, irritation, increased appetite…towards the end of the month, you’ll probably feel the baby move a bit. And an ultrasound should tell you the gender, if you were wanting to know. You’ll want to do a little light exercise – get fresh air. Talk short walks around the Sanctuary. Nothing straining, though; avoid heavy lifting, and drink lots of water. Any questions?”

I shake my head as I mull over all of the information. “No. Well, not about that. My sister – maybe she came into the infirmary at some point? Her name is Kiyah.”

“Kiyah, Kiyah…oh! Yes, she had a few minor injuries. Bruises and scrapes, at the most; I cleaned them up and sent her back to her rooms with James.”

I sag in relief, glad to know that once more, she has escaped harm. “Thank you.”

He nods, scribbling a few things on the file before slipping it back into place and moving to check on the other bandaged, stitched, and injured patients.

“Pregnancy sounds like a real pain,” Jed remarks with a low whistle. I shoot him a narrow-eyed look but don’t reply as I slip off of the bed, skirting around the other beds and I move towards where Negan sits, shoulder newly stitched and bandaged.

“What’d he say?” Negan inquires the moment I’m close enough, reaching out his un-bandaged arm to tug me onto the little cot with him.

I relay the information to him, and he breathes a sigh of relief, tugging me even closer until my head is on his chest. When I glance up, he’s glaring daggers at anyone whose glances linger too long, making a low laugh slip from my lips. His gaze immediately moves to me, his lips fighting a smirk as he asks, “what?”

“You’re so protective.”

“Of-fucking-course I am, doll. I just got back from being imprisoned in Alexandria, I missed almost _four months_ of your pregnancy, and I come back to a goddamn war.”

“Well, granted. But Simon watched me like a hawk the entire time you were gone; guess he takes his promises pretty seriously. Speaking of Simon – is he alright? I lost sight of him, after he fought Alpha…”

Negan grins, and I know before he even opens his mouth that some smartass remark will follow. “He’s fine. But like a hawk, huh? Did you cozy up with Simon while I was gone? That stupid fucking mustache confuses the hell out of me, but I mean, maybe you’re into that…”

“Don’t _even_ ,” I warn, and the possessive glimmer in his eyes fades as he laughs. “He and I almost came to blows a few times, you know.” 

“Sexual tension?”

“ _Negan._ ”

“I’m just pushing your fuckin’ buttons. Let me guess: you wanted to do something stupid, he told you no, you argued.”

“That is not true,” I sniff indignantly, but the arch of his eyebrows makes it clear that he doesn’t believe me. He opens his mouth, likely to make another sarcastic quip at my expense, but before he can say anything, the infirmary door slams open.

I’m on my feet before I know what I’m doing, fingers flying to grab a scalpel from the nearest table as I curse myself, perhaps for the hundredth time that night, for leaving my knives in my room in my panic. It’s totally unlike me, and it makes me nervous to know that I’m slipping. I feel Negan’s hand fly to my waist protectively as he sits up, and Carter surges to his feet as the room goes quiet, all eyes on the man who steps through the door.

Rick looks livid, his face an alarming shade of red, Maggie and Daryl on his heels. They remain in the doorway as Rick storms inside, blue eyes locked onto Negan, hand on the pistol of his gun. Despite the way Negan hisses and curses at me, I don’t move aside, stepping forward until Rick and I are nearly chest to chest, forcing the man to stop as his angry eyes glare down at me. 

But then Negan is there, stitches be damned, as he pulls me behind him, taking my previous place. He towers over Rick, head bent to meet the man’s eyes, posture rigid. When I turn to glance to the side, I’m surprised to see Jed has slipped from his bed, wincing at his injuries as he creeps closer, as if to help.

“How the _hell_ did you get out?” Rick spits, fury rolling off of him in waves. I shift just slightly to the side to see Negan’s expression: it’s smug, triumphant, and more than a little dangerous as he leans in close, his face right in front of Rick’s.

“That’s for me to know, and you to keep yourself up at night trying to find out.”

“This wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

“Things change.”

“ _No_. I understand that you want to be here, with your men and Mazia, but that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

“And I’m not willing to go back to Alexandria with you, Rick. You have no more collateral. You have _nothing._ ”

The situation is dangerously close to unraveling swiftly, when from his bed Jesus suddenly says, “I let him go.” 

Rick whirls, betrayal and fury in his eyes, his ire rising higher than I think I’ve ever seen it. “You did _what?_ ”

“I snuck into Alexandria. I took the key from Morgan, I released Negan, and I brought him back to the Sanctuary.”

“Why would you – “

“Because we needed him, Rick. You didn’t see the way his men rallied when he showed up, or how he handled Alpha and Beta. He gave me his word that he’d work with us, not against us.”

“His word.” Rick’s laugh is bitter, almost wild. “And you really believed that? I thought you were smarter. For all we know, he could band together with the Whisperers, and this whole goddamn war – “

“ _Enough_.” Negan’s voice is a thunderous warning, his body colliding with Rick’s, forcing the man backwards. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your fucking mouth. I’m not going back to your cozy little cell, and I’m not going to work against you. Our agreement still stands, no matter how much I want to cut your dick off and shove it down your throat just so I don’t have to listen to your arrogant fucking mouth. I want the Whisperers dead just as much as you do; they threatened my men, my community, my _unborn child_. You can work with us, or you can work against us – but I’d recommend you think long and hard about whatever decision you make, Rick.”

Rick is breathing hard as his eyes flick from Negan to me, and then to Carson, who is watching with a stern, disapproving expression. He won’t look to Jesus, I note. But Maggie slips into the room a moment later, moving to where Jesus sits with his head bowed, her hand moving to rest on his arm.

“What’s done is done,” she says, her voice surprisingly gentle. “We can’t afford to be divided right now. The Whisperers will regroup, and we need _everyone_ we can get to hold them off.”

Her meaning doesn’t go unnoticed by Rick, who snarls and whirls on his heel, storming from the room. There’s a long silence after he’s gone, and then at once the room seems to release a collective breath, with Carson and Thomas returning their attention to their patients, and Jed hobbling back to his bed with Jesus' help. 

I practically sag with relief and exhaustion, and Negan doesn’t miss the movement. His arm winds around my waist, supporting me as he begins to lead me from the infirmary. 

“But your injuries – “

“Are fine now. Carson gave me the all clear. Now let me worry about _you._ ”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted, you’re pregnant, and frankly I’m not comfortable with Rick’s men lurking around like dogs licking their wounds.”

I say nothing more as he leads me – and Carter, as always – up the many flights of stairs, tugging me down the hallway once we reach our floor. It feels so good to see his strong, towering figure in our shared rooms again as he shuts the door behind us and props Lucille against his desk. Later I know he’ll return to clean her, but for now he leads me through the bedroom into the bathroom, where he releases my hand to stoop, beginning to fill the claw-footed bathtub with steaming water.

“How about a bath, doll? I know I need one.” 

“Aren’t stitches supposed to be kept dry?” I ask, arching a brow.

He scowls. “Fine. You bathe, and I’ll watch.”

He turns away to add lavender-scented oil to the steaming water; when he turns back he falters, his eyes sliding across me as I slip my shirt over my head and step out of my pants. I watch as his eyes trace my breasts and hips, both fuller thanks to pregnancy, and then his gaze settles on my growing stomach. I feel strangely self-conscious, hands lifting to fold over my belly, but he steps forward and firmly pries them away.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’re fucking _stunning_.”

His arms wind around my waist, and I breathe in the familiar scent of him as I bury my face in his chest – leather and blood and something distinctly earthy. It’s difficult not to shiver when his fingers brush my spine, easily unclasping my bra and letting the garment fall to the floor.

His gloved hand moves downwards, one finger hooking into the waistband of my underwear, the other lifting to tilt my chin upwards, his mouth covering mine. His stubble brushes my skin as we kiss, my lips parting eagerly for his, and I gasp into his mouth when he slides my panties down only to slip his leather-clad fingers between my thighs. 

“Rick _really_ has a way of getting under my skin,” he murmurs as his lips begin to trail down my neck, stopping only once he’s reached my breasts. He groans as he palms one, his teeth grazing the nipple of the other, and a similar noise slips from my lips. “But he’s fucking insane if he thinks I’m leaving you again.”

My heart beats harder, desperately hoping that what he says is true. In this strange, screwed up world, nothing is a guarantee. But for now, all I can focus on is _Negan_ as he guides me back towards the counter, his hands briefly moving to my hips to lift me. My legs wind around his waist, pulling him closer as my hands slip up to push his jacket off of his shoulders, my movements gentle when I come to his wound. 

Once the dark leather is a puddle on the floor, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his, my thighs clenching when his hand slips down again, fingers teasingly brushing against my opening. One of my own hands slides down his chest to his belt, fumbling with the buckle for a moment before at last succeeding, letting the now-open ends hang as I unsnap the button of his jeans. A low, frustrated growl escapes me when he shifts his hips backwards to stop me, and he laughs breathily against my lips.

“Patience,” he chides at the exact moment that he slips a leather-clad finger inside of me, making me gasp and buck my hips against his hand. “Or I’ll stop.”

“Liar. You’ve missed this as much as I have.”

I lean my back against the mirror behind me, watching with half-lidded eyes as his gaze darkens. He doesn’t deny it, instead adding a second finger, his hand moving in and out slowly. I let my head loll back to rest against the cool glass, unable to stop the little noises I make as he continues his leisurely, torturous pace, simply watching me. 

I watch him, too, seeing the exact moment that his gaze flits across my breasts, my stomach, my hips, and then all at once, patience seems to flee him. He withdraws his hand to wrap it around my thigh, tugging my hips closer suddenly as his other hand goes down to his pants, finishing what I started. His jeans hang low on his hips, his biceps flexing beneath his dark t-shirt as he braces his hands on the counter, his face hovering just over mine. I can feel his length pressed between my thighs, and I huff as I try to press my hips against his, but he lets that damned smirk cross his features as he shakes his head.

“Tell me that you missed me.”

“I missed you,” I repeat, my chest rising and falling rapidly, the desire that burns through me surprising with its intensity. I’ve always been crazy about Negan, but this…this is something else, heightened by hormones, making me practically pant with anticipation. 

“Tell me you need this.” 

“I _need_ this.”

“Tell me – “

“I’m going to tell you to go to hell if you don’t fuck me _right now_ , Negan.”

His laughter is low and gravelly, but before I can say anything else, his hips move forward, and he buries himself inside of me with one long stroke. 

My head falls back again, a soft mewl escaping me as he begins to move, his pace far too slow for my liking. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , are you complaining?” He asks, his pupils so dilated that only a thin sliver of hazel rings them. “You’re not made of glass, but you _are_ pregnant.” 

“You won’t hurt me.”

He grins, but his pace quickens, and I wrap my legs more tightly around him, tugging him against me with each thrust. “You’re a little fuckin’ feisty lately, aren’t you?”

“Technically, it’s all your fault.”

Words are lost then as he kisses me, tongue brushing mine, one of his hands lifting to settle upon my stomach. I shudder at the feeling of him completely overwhelming my senses: his stubble against my chin, his warm palm on my belly, his hips flexing beneath where my legs are wrapped. The smell of him, familiar and comforting and _home_ ; the sight of the desire blazing in his eyes, of his biceps flexing. It’s all too much, and already I feel myself becoming lost in the sensations, the pleasure that sweeps through me building until one particularly swift thrusts pushes me over the edge.

My surprised keen makes him grin, his hips never stopping as I ride out my orgasm, panting when I’m done. And still he doesn’t stop, the hand at my hip lifting to pinch one of my nipples between his fingers, bringing me abruptly near to the edge all over again.

“ _Shit_ , Maz. You might exhaust me,” he says, and though it’s taunting, I hear the slight desperate note beneath his words. He’s close, too, so I sit up and scoot to the edge of the counter, giving him a new angle that makes him groan as my breasts brush his chests, my fingers burying in his thick hair, tugging. His pace is quickly becoming sloppy, his thrusts lacking rhythm, and I stare deep into his eyes, hazel meeting tawny, until his head suddenly drops to rest on my shoulder, his hips snapping erratically against mine just as his teeth nip hard at my collarbone. I gasp his name, the sound breathless and strangled as my vision goes momentarily white, his own moans of ecstasy as he reaches his peak making me clench hard around him, all sight and sounds shattering into nothing.

His hips still, his head still resting on my shoulder, his breathing hard and fast. My heartbeat is as swift as a rabbits as we remain there for a while, still joined, trying to catch our breath.

At last he pulls away, slipping out of me and tucking himself back into his jeans as his gaze flicks across my still-naked figure, gleaming with satisfaction. He glances to the bath then, laughing as he rumbles, “Oops. Water’s probably fucking cold now.”

I remain on the counter, watching as he drains the bath only to fill it again, and when it’s warm and ready, he turns and lifts me in his arms, briefly cradling me against his chest before gently placing me in the tub. The heat feels wonderful against my tense muscles, and I sigh as I slip down into the water, tilting my head back to wet my hair. I feel him settle behind me outside of the tub, and then his long, calloused fingers are rubbing coconut-scented shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp. I hum with satisfaction as my eyes close, and after a moment his fingers pause briefly.

I hear him shift, and then he’s pressing a gentle, scratchy kiss against my damp shoulder, his sigh seeming to roll through me. “I know I’ve said it a million fucking times, but I _really_ missed you, doll.” 

My smile seems endless as he begins to cup water in his hands, releasing it over my head to wash away the shampoo. His laughter warms me more than any bath ever could when I reply, “I know. I wasn't the same person, when you were gone.” 

"Well, I'm fuckin' here to stay. The Sanctuary has their king back...and now, their queen, too."


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Douuuble chapter!

  


_I remember love like fire,_  
_Hands held tight_  
_I was barely getting by,_  
_But your eyes were lights_  
_You decided to take a chance on me_  
_Who knew?_  
_Who knew the troubles we'd overcome?_  
_Who knew?_  
_Who knew the barriers we'd tear down?_  
_And all the crowds we'd see gather round?_  
_Who knew the life we would've found?_  
_Who knew?_  


“Negan.”

He grunts, torn abruptly from his dreams, his ire rising rapidly. But instead of responding he rolls, burrowing further under the covers, tugging a pillow over his head.

“Oh, _no_ you don’t.” The pillow is lifted suddenly and he snorts in pure irritation, snapping a jumbled set of noises that don’t even form words as he tugs the blanket over his head. But a moment later it’s yanked off, too, leaving him cold and utterly, completely naked.

“What the _fuck_ \- “ he sits up, hair mussed, voice thick, oozing discontent. But he pauses when he sees Mazia there, sitting cross-legged, her arms folded on top of her rapidly growing belly as she glares at him. He slumps back against the mattress, his grin likely resembling the cat that ate the canary as he takes in her own wild hair, his t-shirt that dwarfs her frame, and her narrow tawny eyes. 

“You overslept,” she tells him simply. “And we have somewhere to be.”

“We do? I was hoping that we could just, ya know…” His voice trails off, one broad hand reaching for her, but she shifts away and shakes her head.

“Nope. Not falling for that one again. I missed the ultrasound appointment yesterday because of _that_ , and it’s going to take us a while to get ready and get to Hilltop. So get your ass out of bed, get dressed, and let’s _go_.”

“Why the fuck doesn’t _our_ Carson have an ultrasound machine? Maybe I should steal the one from Hilltop.”

“Negan.”

“Joking, doll.” He takes a moment to stretch, grinning as she continues to glare daggers at him until he at last slides from the bed, striding over to his dresser to rifle through the clothes – though it’s not as if he doesn’t already fucking know what he’s going to wear. A pair of dark gray jeans, his usual belt, a gray t-shirt, his leather jacket, boots, and glove following. He slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth and slick back his hair; when he emerges, Mazia is dressed in a pair of dark leggings that cling to her wonderfully larger ass, a loose, flowing white shirt, and her usual boots. She leaves her hair loose like she knows he likes it, long and straight, hanging down beneath her breasts, and true to her nature, he watches as she straps her belt of knives and machetes at her waist, her Ruger following. 

“Someone’s eager,” he quips, and she turns those lovely tawny eyes on him, chewing at her lip.

“Aren’t you? I mean…you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. Or if you don’t want to know the gender, we can wait…”

In a few strides he’s across the room, heart seizing as he gently takes her face in his hands, his eyes blazing when they meet hers. “Maz, baby, _no_. I just like fucking teasing you. Shit, of course I want to go. Of course I want to know.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, her forehead momentarily resting against his as her eyes close. He feels shitty for making her think he wasn’t excited, even for a second, but when her eyes open again to gaze at him, she’s smiling.

“Well? What are you waiting for, then?”

He flashes a grin in response, gloved hand lowering to thread their fingers together as he tugs her from the bedroom, the quiet padding of four paws against the carpet reassuring him that Carter is following. Together they slip down to the main floor, stopping only to grab a quick bite from the kitchen before Negan leads her out to the yard, waiting while Simon has the Jeep readied for them.

It’s only him, Mazia, Carter, and a fairly new but completely obedient Savior named Arat who pile into the Jeep. The car is silent as Negan steers them through the gates and onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on Mazia’s thigh. She’s nervous, he can tell; her other leg bounces, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she gazes out of the window. He wants to pull the Jeep to the side of the road, to lean over and tease her lip free with his own, but he knows that they need to get to Hilltop – and besides, the ever-silent Arat wouldn’t exactly make a good spectator. Not that he thinks Mazia would let her watch, anyways; his beloved is a fiercely possessive creature, a complete wildcat when it comes to him as of late. He doesn’t mind. 

When at last the gates of Hilltop come into view, Negan feels the way a knot of anxiety settles in his stomach. Carson and Thomas have both assured them that the baby is healthy, that _Mazia_ is healthy, but still. She’d confided to him her worries about miscarriages based on her own mother’s history, and even further than that, the realization that he is about to learn if he is having a son or a daughter weighs heavily on him, making him…worried. Excited. A little scared.

Because shit, what did he ever do to deserve her? He’d become an absolute monster after Lucille died and he became the _new_ Negan. If someone had told him when he’d first laid eyes on Mazia, kneeling in the lineup with Rick and his crew, that he would come to love her, to cherish her, to expect a _child_ with her, he would have laughed in their face and introduced them to Lucille for it. But here is he, clutching her knee reassuringly as they maneuver through the opening gates, his heart feeling as if it’s about to burst from anticipation.

With Lucille, before the apocalypse, they’d never had or expected kids. Hell, they’d never intentionally tried for them. By the time Negan had thought about it, it’d been too late. And he’d sure as fuck never wanted children with his wives, before he’d set them aside for Mazia. But now he’s…shit, he’s _excited_. He feels a desperate need to protect Mazia, to protect his son or daughter, to be the type of man he should have been for his first wife. 

He looks at her when he pulls the Jeep to a stop, his eyes drinking in her large, trusting eyes when she gazes at him, her full lips tugged up at the corners, her pert little nose and her caramel skin. He tries to imagine what their child will look like, though he surmises that the kid will be fucking perfect either way. Only when Arat clears her throat does he at last climb from the Jeep, moving around to open Mazia’s door and usher her out as Maggie and Jesus appear on the porch of the main house.

Maggie is smiling when she reaches their little group, though the motion is reserved strictly for Mazia. “Are you excited? Nervous?” The woman asks.

“A little of both,” Mazia admits, leaning forward to hug first Maggie, and then Jesus. There’s no pang of jealousy, not now that Negan knows the man is gay; shit, he’s never admitted to being perfect. But now, he’s only thankful that the long-haired ass looked after Mazia while he was gone. God knows she needed it.

Together, they follow Maggie and Jesus as the pair leads them to a large trailer, where Hilltop’s Carson is waiting inside. Arat positions herself outside of the door with Carter settling on the other side of the stairs as Negan’s hand drifts to Mazia’s lower back, ushering her into the cool building.

The doctor who greets them looks remarkably like the Carson at the Sanctuary, though younger and with more hair. He smiles warmly to Mazia, and even extends the greeting to Negan, which is more than he can say for the other wary members of Hilltop.

Carson leads Mazia over to one of the beds, waiting while she becomes comfortable and rolls her shirt up until it rests beneath her breasts. Negan settles on the opposite side of the doctor, threading his fingers through hers and squeezing reassuringly. She aims a smile in his direction before wincing as Carson squirts some strange clear fluid on her stomach, making Negan frown. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh – no. It’s just cold.”

He nods, glancing towards Carson, glad to see that the man isn’t fucking laughing at him or something. He watches as the doctor begins to smooth the gel over her stomach with some strange looking wand, dark images flickering on the screen of a little gray machine. 

“The baby’s a lot bigger this time, hm?” Carson remarks as he stares at the screen. And Negan looks up, his eyes settling on the image of his child.

The baby _is_ bigger than the ultrasound picture Jesus gifted him with (which Negan still has), but shit, the little thing is still so tiny. Negan feels his breath catch in his lungs as he squeezes Mazia’s hand harder, her own eyes glued to the screen as well. Together, they watch as the little figure shifts and moves slowly, little fists curled.

“Someone's being stubborn about giving us a reveal,” Carson says, but Negan doesn’t mind sitting and watching the little tyke for longer. His heart is beating hard in his chest, as if it can’t believe what it’s seeing, either. 

But at last, the baby shifts, and Carson grins as he moves the little mouse to point at something on the screen.

“Is that a – “ Negan crows, only stopping when Mazia’s gaze cuts towards him.

“Yep,” Carson confirms with a nod. “It’s a boy.”

And then it hits him - _really_ hits him – like a fucking freight train. In five months, Mazia will give birth to his son. He will hold a tiny, precious little boy in his arms, and together they’ll watch him grow; they’ll teach him everything that he needs to know, they’ll protect him, and they’ll watch him grow into a young man. 

It steals the breath right from his lungs as a wide grin spreads across Mazia’s face, and she turns to look at him, joy shining in her eyes. He’s immensely grateful when Carson hurriedly cleans off Mazia’s stomach and rises, offering to give the two privacy.

Before Mazia can tug her shirt down, Negan leans forward, stubble brushing her skin as he plants a series of kisses to her stomach. And then he simply lays his head there, shuddering as her hands gently wind into his hair.

“I never would have thought…” he trails off, voice muffled, before clearing his throat and trying again, aware of how tremulous his tone is. “I’m not…I’m not a good man. I’ve done so many shitty fucking things.”

“We all have. We've had to,” Mazia says, her voice soft as she continues to run her fingers through his hair. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself. I don’t. I _know_ that you’re going to be the best damn father you can be. The timing, with the Whisperers…it’s not ideal. But we’ll make it through this. And we’ll protect him, when he’s born – together.”

“What if he fucking hates me? What if he thinks I’m a monster, just like everyone else?”

“He’s not going to hate you. He’s going to adore you, maybe more than I do, and really, that should be impossible.”

He shifts his head so that he can gaze up at her, still squeezing her little hand in his, offering her a rueful smile. “Are you suggesting that you’re obsessed with me?”

“Look, the last thing we need is to inflate your ego further. It’ll go to your stomach when it can’t go to your head anymore, and then you’ll look as pregnant as I do.”

He laughs, his warm breath ghosting across her stomach before he sits up, tugging down her shirt. 

Later, when they are on the way back to Sanctuary, the car engulfed in comfortable silence, Negan can’t help contemplating her earlier words. He’d heard the sincerity in her voice, when she’d told him that their child would love him. He’s done terrible things, to be sure – he meant it, when he said it. But maybe he’s at last realizing it, _fully_ coming to terms with the fact that something has to give. No longer can Negan go recklessly making enemies, building up a tally of people who want to hurt him, who will use Mazia or his son against him. Working together with the other communities to take down the Whisperers is the first step; _keeping_ the peace they’ve found afterwards is the next.

It won’t be easy. Negan knows he can’t change completely, and that he can’t do it overnight. But with Mazia at his side, guiding him along, he imagines that baby steps will eventually lead him to the path of…maybe not righteousness. But something firmly in-between.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a request for one of you on tumblr to incorporate some wonderful ideas for a little fluff with Negan taking care of pregnant Mazia; the ideas were so cute that I couldn't resist! More will come in the future. <3
> 
> I struggled getting this chapter out - just because real life likes to kick me in the butt and remind me that I have homework, chores, and whatnot. But finally I sat down tonight, tried to ignore my needy cats, and finished this for you all!

  


_I don't mind the sun sometimes_  
_the images it shows_  
_I can taste you on my lips_  
_and smell you in my clothes_  


I’m perched in one of the cozy, overstuffed chairs in Maggie’s office at Hilltop, one leg folded beneath me, and baby Hershel bouncing merrily on my lap. He’s a bright-eyed, chubby-cheeked child, a thatch of dark hair upon his head as he gurgles and fists one of his little hands on the top of my growing belly.

At five months, it’s no longer able to be hidden – the only thing I’m comfortable in is leggings and loose shirts, or the swishy little dresses that Negan has taken a liking to. I wear one now, a lacy, deep blue number with a little bow just under the bust, the ribbons frequently catching Hershel’s eye. 

Maggie glances up from her paperwork, smiling at the sight of us, and I return the gesture. I learned long ago that it’s useless to be surprised by whom I grow close with; after Jesus’ friendship, and Simon’s…anything seems possible. 

Maggie is a great comfort, having recently experienced the very same thing that my own body is now undergoing. She is kind and patient with my concerns and fears, many of which I whisper to Negan during the late nights when I can’t sleep. It still seems so surreal, the idea that in four months, I will be a mother. 

“Are you taking the prenatal vitamins that Carson gave you?” Maggie asks.

“Yes. It’s not like there’s any way I could forget – Negan asks me at _least_ five times every morning.”

She glances up, studying me as she so often does when I mention Negan. I know how she must hate him, for what he did to Glenn while she was forced to watch. I know she must think of it every time she looks into baby Hershel’s eyes. But never once has Maggie bad-mouthed Negan to me; never once has she shunned me or made me feel lesser for being with him. It means more to me than I will ever be able to express.

“Not just him,” I continue after a moment, cradling Hershel in my arms as slowly but surely, he begins to tire. “Everyone. Simon’s always barking at me to make sure I walk daily, to drink water, to eat. And my sister…god, Kiyah and Negan are neck-in-neck in the ‘who can annoy Mazia the most’ competition.”

There’s a quiet chuckle from Maggie, and when I glance up, there’s a strange, sad little smile on her face. I swiftly replay my last admission in my head – and then it clicks. “You…had a sister?”

“Yes. And a brother. Shawn – he was killed by walkers pretty early on – and Beth. She survived, for a while. She was…depressed, after everything that happened when things first went bad. We lost a lot. But she got better, stronger. Until she was shot.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I cannot even begin to fathom the pain of losing Kiyah – and for Maggie to have lost two siblings, the rest of her family, her husband…

“I just…I know it’s expected, with things how they are, to lose people. I knew it when Beth and I stood at the gates of the prison – one of our group’s previous strongholds – and watched our father die. But she was so bright…always so happy, always trying to make people smile. It just seemed like if anyone was going to last to the end, it would be her. She had her own strength, in her own way. I think that the world is a little dimmer, without her in it.”

Moving carefully, I tuck a now-sleeping Hershel to my side, easing from the chair and padding on quiet feet across the room, until I’m at her side. I wrap my free arm around her shoulder, and we embrace for a moment, before I ease her child into her arms, watching the way her expression softens at the sight of him slumbering so peacefully, so safely. 

And then there comes a loud knock on the door, which promptly flies open as Simon sticks his head inside, his voice seeming overly loud as it breaks the silence. “Alright, Maz, the trucks are loaded up. Let’s get back before Negan returns from the Kingdom, I’m sure he’ll want – “

“ _Shhh,_ ” Maggie and I hiss simultaneously, and he freezes, but it’s too late. Hershel stirs, eyes opening, and then he begins to cry, his little face turning red amazingly fast. 

“Oh, shit, sorry. Jeez, I didn’t know,” Simon is saying, quickly backpedaling out of the room with our glares chasing him. I’ve never seen him look so very uncomfortable, and after a moment, I can’t help it. I start laughing, high-pitched peals of amusement that Maggie quickly joins in on as she hurriedly begins to rock Hershel.

“Go, go, before he comes back and makes it worse,” she says between giggles, and after leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of Hershel’s head, I gather my things and move to follow Simon, Carter yawning as he lifts himself from his place beside my chair to follow.

\---

“My feet,” I murmur crabbily, my voice muffled by the pillow scrunched beneath my face, “are huge. Absolutely massive. If I stepped on you, I’d kill you.”

Negan’s laughter is booming, his amusement at my grouching never-ending. I hear the sound of his boots being kicked off, the clink of his glass of scotch against the wood of the bedside table, and then the mattress is dipping on one side, one of his large palms rubbing reassuring circles on my back.

I’m curled half on my side, half on my front – it’s impossible to lay fully on my stomach these days. It’s where I’ve been ever since I returned from Hilltop, stopping only to greet Negan as he oversaw the unloading of supplies before slipping up to our room.

Or, trying to. The stairs had been a downright pain in the ass, and my feet aren’t thanking me for it now. I sigh, uncurling just slightly in an attempt to rub them, but it’s becoming more and more difficult with each passing day, my stomach seeming to grow with each second. Negan constantly assures me that I’m _not_ massive – and really, I know that the worst is yet to come with the six month mark approaching. But it doesn’t make me feel like any less of an irate blimp. 

“Just relax, Maz,” he says, pressing at my shoulders gently until I give up and flop back down. His hand lifts, his index finger smoothing out the furrow between my brows as he grins at me. “Pregnancy is absolutely stunning on you.”

“Get bent.”

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your loving, doting, handsome, fearless – “

“Negan.”

He laughs again, and despite my crankiness, I can’t help but smile. It swiftly turns into a grateful little grin as he maneuvers so that he’s sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, pulling my feet into his lap, beginning to rub firm, slow circles with his fingers. 

I don’t know what I’d do without him; I’d previously been resigned to the idea of facing my pregnancy on my own, when he’d been imprisoned. But now, as he massages my aching feet and whistles a cheery tune, I let my eyes drift closed, reflecting on how much he’s done for me. 

It’s not unusual, for him to ensure that I’m as comfortable as possible. Every morning I wake to him somehow having sneakily maneuvered from the room without rousing me, his face the first thing I see as he leans down to press a kiss to my lips. There is always a tray of breakfast waiting, with plenty of water and my vitamins set aside for me. When I’ve finished eating – every single bite, to his insistence – he always scoops me into my arms despite my assurances that he’ll break his back from the strain, carrying me to a warm, scented bath that he’d already drawn before waking me. 

After that, his duties usually call him away. But Negan always ensures that I have company for the day before he goes, whether it be Kiyah, Jed, or a visiting Jesus, when possible. And each night he’s there for dinner before wrapping me in his arms, massaging the places that ache, soothing my worries and fears, sharing in my excitement. 

He is, for all intents and purposes, a doting father-to-be. Ever since the moment he’d seen our son on the ultrasound machine at Hilltop, Negan had been fiercely determined to protect me, to care for me – more so than usual, if possible. 

When he’s finished with my feet, he begins to work his way up my calves and thighs, before moving to my lower back, pausing just long enough to peel my shirt off of my frame. He begins to place gentle, stubbly kisses along my spine as he swipes a bottle of lavender-scented oil from the bedside table, slicking his palms with it before resuming his movements, his thumbs making wide, strong circles along my back and shoulders.

“You’re an angel,” I inform him after a long moment of silently enjoying his attentions, and he laughs. 

“An angel? Shit, baby, I don’t think _anyone_ has ever told me that, much less thought it.”

“I mean it. You’ve been so wonderful, even when I’m biting your head off over nothing.”

“Doesn’t hurt that you’re still so damn adorable when you’re pissed off.”

“It’s probably not safe to tell me that the next time I’m bursting into tears over not being able to find Carter’s brush.”

His palms slide over my collarbone, squeezing, and I let my head loll to one side. This time a year ago, Negan’s hands at my throat would have instilled terror, awe, and obedience. But now I feel only comfort, trust, love. It’s startling, to reflect on how swiftly time has flown. 

“I talked to Carson today – “ he begins, and I groan.

“Again? You heckle him more than I do.”

“ – and he said,” Negan continues, voice a fraction louder to drown me out. “That your ankles and hands might swell, too.”

“I’m going to look like a balloon.”

“That’s suggesting that you already don’t,” he quips jokingly, and I twist to swat at him, my palm smacking his chest as he grins. “He also said to expect increased appetite, snoring – honestly, if you snore any louder babe, you might wake up the whole compound – indigestion, constipation – “

“ _Negan._ You did _not_ talk to Carson about potential constipation,” I say, distinctly horrified. 

“I’m also a little more up to speed on your diet.”

“ _More_ up to speed? You monitor everything I eat.”

“I’ve told Kiyah you need more greens, dairy products, and fruit on your trays.”

“You and Kiyah are banding together against me. You two need a team name. How does “The Insufferable Duo of Nosiness” sound?”

“Too fuckin’ long. Short and sweet, doll.”

“I could turn something into an acronym. Duo of Intrusive, Concerned Killjoys.” 

“’DICK’s? And you say I’m the immature one.”

“I’m pregnant. I have an excuse.”

He chuckles as he eases down onto the mattress beside me, pulling me into him. I can’t help but be cheered by our banter as I lay my head on his chest, his arm winding around my waist, hand resting on my growing stomach.

“Really, though,” I say, breaking the silence after a long moment as my hand slips beneath his shirt, my fingers toying with the fine dusting of hair on his chest and stomach. “Thank you.”

“Thank me for what? Being here for you? Giving a shit about you? No fucking need.”

“Still,” I insist, humming as his hand lifts to scratch at my scalp, making my eyes close. Here, when it’s just the two of us in the early hours of the night, everything feels…perfect. Safe.

I know that there are still the Whisperers to worry about; I know that we should be concerned by their apparent silence. It means that they are recovering, regrouping, preparing to hit us again, harder than before. But there are so many worries that go through my head during the daylight hours, when Negan and I are apart. 

For once, I let myself be selfish, and simply bask in the warmth of him.

I don’t remember dozing off, but when I feel the mattress shift, my eyes drift open. I watch as he sits up, my eyes tracing the path of his muscles beneath his t-shirt, the curve of his neck, the fine line of his jaw. He glances at me over his shoulder, his lips stretching into that familiar, slow smirk. 

“So I’ve been thinking, doll,” he says, and something in his tone makes me immediately alert. I sit up, hair mused as it falls down my bare back, my gaze fastened to him as he stands up and moves to his jacket where it hangs on the back of the chair. “A lot, actually, about…all of this. You, me, the baby. I know that the Saviors - and shit, everyone else, really - already think of you as mine.” 

“I am,” I say, and he grins with pleasure. 

“Damn straight. So that’s why I wanted to do something. And when I found this, at the Kingdom today…I traded some things here and there. Ezekiel said it was found on a run; not much use for them in the fucking apocalypse, but shit, I still wanted to…”

He trails off, and I frown, my eyebrows dipping low. “Negan? What is it?”

He turns and moves back to the bed, something enclosed in one hand as he lifts one of my palms with the other. I watch him as he crouches beside the bed, comprehension not yet dawning as his hazel eyes lift to meet mine. He looks…serious. Almost nervous.

“I know that when you first got here, things were different. I had wives, but they weren’t _really_ my fucking wives. I’ve only ever been married once, to…to Lucille. After that, I didn’t think it would ever be a possibility again. Especially when everything went to shit. But now…”

And it clicks. My breath catches as his fingers unfurl, revealing a delicate silver ring in his palm. The ring is simple but beautiful, two bands of silver entwined, dotted with little diamonds and onyxes. I can feel Negan searching my expression as he holds the ring up to the light, watching the way my eyes have widened, the way I’ve frozen.

“So what do you say we give this a fucking shot? There’s that freaky ass priest as Alexandria, if you really want to go all out.” He pauses, and then exhales, a shaky breath that has my gaze flying to his face. “Shit, Mazia, I’m not any good at this. But would you… _will_ you be my wife?”

There’s no question about it; there is nothing but love and dawning joy in my heart as I shakily nod, my hand trembling when I hold it out to him, watching in awe as Negan, fearsome King of the Saviors, slides the ring onto my finger. And then I’m launching forward, practically hanging off of the bed as my palms come to rest on each side of his face, tilting his face up as my lips meet his. He laughs into the kiss, the sound full of gleeful disbelief as we embrace. 

Once more, everything has changed.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, almost 40 chapters! You guys are the best readers I could have asked for <3

  


_I'm a time bomb ticking_  
_A real live wire_  
_Boy a shot in the dark,_  
_I'm a bullet in a bonfire_  


Negan really, really, _really_ wishes that Simon would drive a little goddamn faster.

It’s not like they’re going slow – the Jeep is practically devouring the pavement, the miles falling away behind them. But lately, whenever Negan has been away from the Sanctuary and Mazia, he’s felt…impatient. Easily irritated.

But he knows that this is something that he needs to do. No longer can he sit around twiddling his fucking thumbs, wondering when the Whisperers will attack. So that’s why he’s seated in the passenger side of the Jeep, one leg bouncing up and down with anticipation, two trucks of his best, stealthiest men – and women, with Arat included - rumbling behind them. 

He knows, even before they pull off to the side of the road and park beside the long-ago abandoned vehicle from the Kingdom, that the Whisperers will be gone. So he’s not surprised when the two men he sends to scout ahead circle back around, finding Negan, Simon, and the rest of the group where they move through the trees to report that the tents are nowhere in sight. The Whisperers would have been stupid to stay where their camp was previously located, but still, Negan hoped they were dumbasses. 

He stands to the side of the clearing, hazel gaze watching as several of his men crouch to examine the ground. Lucille is slung over his shoulder, the skin there protected by the thick leather of his jacket. Simon stands beside him, thumbs curled in the belt loops of his jeans. 

“Wonder how far they moved,” he says after a while, his voice tinged with faint agitation.

“No fucking telling,” Negan replies. “Probably far, after I smashed one side of Beta’s skull in.”

“How bad was it?”

“Not bad enough to kill the bastard.”

Simon hums in acknowledgement. “Hopefully it did him in later. Fighting him is like tackling a goddamn freight train.”

Negan snorts, but doesn’t disagree.

Finally one of the men peels away and approaches him – Todd, he thinks. “Not much to go on, boss. There’s tracks, but they’re mostly from the biters they had. Must’ve took ‘em with ‘em. Course, those stumbling deadheads shouldn’t be hard to track – unless they left the forest with ‘em.”

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” Negan asks, extending his arm with a flourish. “Get to it.”

He trails after them as the ones in charge of tracking take their sweet fucking time picking their way through the underbrush, with Simon and Arat flanking him. He knows that he can’t rush the process, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating, and by the time they’ve looped back around to the road, he’s gritting his teeth.

“They’re smart,” Todd comments grudgingly, shaking his head as he crosses to the other side of the road, apparently finding no marks in the dirt there. “They must’ve traveled down the asphalt. No telling where they went.”

Fucking lovely. Still, Negan knows that his little war with the Whisperers is far from over. Sighing, he lifts his gloved hand to run it through his slicked hair, musing the strands. “Alright. Shit. Let’s fucking go then, I’m tired of sitting here with my dick out waiting for some miracle sign that’s not going to happen.” 

He scowls when Todd’s gaze timidly slides down towards his jeans.

“Fucking _figuratively_.” 

Simon snorts his amusement, already making for the Jeep. Negan moves to follow, calling over his shoulder to the others, “We’re not homeward bound yet. We’ve got one more stop to make.”

\---

He can practically feel the alarm radiating from Alexandria as the Jeep slides to a halt at the gates, the other two trucks stopping behind them. He can’t help the shit-eating grin that stretches across his face as he leans out of the window, waving merrily like some soccer-mom neighbor. 

Rick appears at the gate in record time, the force of his glare only making Negan chuckle as he steps from the Jeep, Lucille swinging at his side. The sound of doors slamming behind him assures him that he’s well-flanked, and Simon remains behind the wheel of the Jeep, prepared to make a quick getaway, if needed. Negan hasn’t forgotten Rick’s ire at his escape, and he’s sure as fuck not going back into that cell.

He strides to the front of the Jeep, nonchalantly leaning back against the grill as his gaze flicks up to the walls. Three guns trained on him, which he’d expected. He knows his own men and women have their weapons out, too, making the whole truce business seem like a total shitshow. 

“What do you want?” Rick asks, his stern voice carrying from behind the gate, which he’s made no move to open. That’s fucking fine with Negan; he’s not exactly chomping at the bit to get into Alexandria, anyways.

“Oh, _Rick_. Always so happy to see me. Is this how you treat a man who comes bearing good tidings?” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head as if disappointed. “I’m wounded.”

Rick says nothing; he simply narrows his eyes and places one hand on the holster of his Python. 

“Alright, alright. Shit, sorry for trying to make a little joke,” Negan continues. “Look, I fucking told you that I was willing to work with you to take down those skinsuit wearing freaks, and I meant it. So stop glaring at me like I came to kill your kid and fuck your girlfriend, would ya?”

“Why _did_ you come?” It’s the growling voice of Daryl that makes him sigh; it was only a matter of time before the squinty-eyed bastard showed up to play guard dog for Rick. 

“I’m getting married!” He crows at last, arms flying out as if to embrace someone, his grin wide. Negan doesn’t miss the surprise that shines in Rick’s baby blues. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Rick?”

“Congratulations,” deadpans the man. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Negan replies, as if the sentiment were sincere. “Look, you know I’m not a big fan of that creepy fuckin’ priest of yours. Man gives me nightmares, if we’re bein’ honest. But I want this to be as close to the real thing as possible, so I’d really, _really_ like it if he’d agree to oversee the ceremony.”

Rick pauses, exchanging glances with Daryl, who shrugs. “That would be up to Father Gabriel.”

Negan quirks a brow, waiting, before huffing out an impatient sigh. “Well, can you…go fucking ask him?”

Rick doesn’t move, as expected; instead it’s Daryl who peels off to go find the priest, and Negan reclines back against the hood of the Jeep as if he has all the time in the world. But inside, he’s cursing the stubbornness of Alexandria’s leader with a whole new string of creative terms. 

When at last Daryl returns, it with the man of the hour in tow. Father Gabriel aims one of those skin-crawlingly creepy smiles in Negan’s direction, his voice as soft as a newborn baby’s ass when he speaks. “I hear that you’ve decided to join in union with…Mazia, was it?”

“That’s her.”

“That’s wonderful news. When is the big day?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Negan replies. “Figured I’d make sure you were on board before we set anything in stone. Will you do it?”

“Well, yes. I’d be delighted to – “

“Excellent!” Negan grins, saluting the man – and Rick – with two fingers as he whirls, tired of wasting time blabbering with the fuckers. “I’ll be in touch, then, if good ol’ Rick doesn’t shoot me on sight next time.”

His smile drops as he settles back into the Jeep, slamming the door behind him. Simon seems entirely too amused by his scowl, but as the man glances back towards the gates, his smile fades as swiftly as Negan’s had.

“What now?” Negan barks, and when he turns to look, he feels his heart seize, rage trickling through his veins like a poison.

Because Dwight stands behind Rick, his shitty, smug fucking face contorted in a grotesque smirk as he stares through the windshield at Negan.

Negan’s hand grips the handle of Lucille hard enough to hurt; as Simon shakes his head and begins to turn the Jeep, Negan leans out of the window, one arm tapping a violent, lethal tune on the side of the car. “Dwighty-boy,” he calls in a booming singsong that sounds more like a threat than anything else. “Don’t get too fucking comfortable.”

A savage grin pulls at his lips as he gives Dwight his very own middle-finger salute, and then the Jeep is roaring down the road, the purr of the engine echoing. 

They’re halfway back the Sanctuary before Simon speaks. “Can’t believe that bastard’s hiding in Alexandria with his tail between his fucking legs.”

“I can. Slimy little shit.”

There’s another brief lapse before Simon speaks. “How’s Mazia doing?”

“Happy as she can be,” replies Negan, unable to help his grin. Now that they’re on the way back to the Sanctuary, he can breathe a little easier. “A little worried, too. Shit, I hate seeing her worry.”

“Hard not to. Being pregnant at a time like this?” Simon shrugs when Negan aims a glare in his direction. “Just saying. You know we’ll all do our best to make sure she’s safe, boss.”

“Yeah, well. You fucking better. What about you? No lovely ladies dying to go for a mustache ride?”

“Oh, they’re lining up at the door.”

Negan chortles, propping one of his feet on the dash. “I can only imagine. What about Arat? I’ve seen her eyeballing you.”

Simon only shrugs again, but Negan notes that he looks mighty fucking pleased.

The rest of the conversation is little more than idle chitchat and bawdy jokes. When at last they reach the gates of the Sanctuary, he’s hanging partially out of the window as they approach, sending the men watching the gate scrambling to open it.

The minute he’s out of the car he’s moving, boots thudding noisily against the concrete as he leaves men and women kneeling in his wake. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, already whistling a cheery tune when he bursts into his office. From beside the fireplace, Carter lifts his head, tail thumping at the sight of Negan. But the man has eyes only for Mazia, who’s curled on one of the sofas, a book in her lap and a brush in her hand as she runs it through her long black hair. She glances up, catching sight of him, and Negan’s pathetic heart stutters as she smiles at him, glee shining in her tawny eyes. “You’re back.”

He’s across the room in three strides, kneeling in front of her just as the Saviors knelt for him. One hand goes to her growing belly, and the other to the back of her head, gently pulling her down until their lips meet. Kissing her feels…shit, it feels _right_ , and the little knot of anticipation and worry that had previously settled in his stomach unwinds.

“How did the trip to Alexandria go?” she asks as he settles on the sofa behind her, snatching the brush out of her hand with a grin. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest as he begins to brush the long, silky strands of her hair for her, loving the way it smoothly falls between his fingers.

“Good. Freaky Priest agreed.” She laughs at the moniker, the sound like the sweetest fucking music to Negan’s ears. But it dies when he adds, “Went looking for the Whisperers, too.”

“ _Negan_ \- “

“Didn’t find them. They moved.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were going to do?”

“Because you would have worried, doll, and Carson says you shouldn’t stress.”

“Easier said than done,” she murmurs crossly, folding her arms over her stomach. But she doesn’t move away from him, seeming too content with her place settled between his knees. “Promise you’ll tell me next time?”

He brushes her hair over one shoulder, leaning down to place a stubbly kiss against the nape of her neck. He can’t hide his gravelly chuckle when she shivers. “I’ll consider.”

“And I’ll _consider_ not hogging all of the blankets and making you sleep in the cold tonight.”

“There’s the feisty girl I know and love.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so! I got super busy with work and school, and just life in general, so I am so so sorry about the wait on this once. But here it is! This is a short chapter, but man, I couldn't keep you guys waiting any longer.
> 
> Also – I know things have slowed down in the story to a calmer pace. I’m mostly trying to process through Mazia’s pregnancy without rushing it too much, and to prolong the threat of the Whisperers – they’re supposed to be around for years in the comics I know, and they won’t be around that long in this fic obviously…but I didn’t want to just blow right through them in a few chapters. I promise things will heat up soon – I have the rest of the story outlined ;)

  


_We we're pulled_  
_from our path_  
_Of least resistance_  


"Kiyah. We're not even getting married until after the baby is born."

I can hear the exasperation in my own voice, but Kiyah seems to miss it. I'm lounging upon one of the plush divans in the ridiculously massive walk-in closet on the floor that Negan and I share, watching idly as Kiyah shuffles through the various dresses and gowns. 

"Which I still think is ridiculous," she points out. 

"I don't want to look like a cow on my wedding day," I murmur, flipping through the pages of an old magazine. 

"And you want a wedding night free of that baby bump," she replies deviously, and I fling the magazine at her. "What? It's true."

"Lets not forget that when the bump is gone, a baby will be here."

"A baby that someone can watch while you and Negan -"

" _Kiyah._ Please, let me pretend like my little sister isn't giving me suggestions for my wedding night."

"Okay, okay," she amends. "But seriously, Maz, it's the apocalypse. How often do we get to see weddings these days? Hint: never. Don't you want to just...go all out? Or as much as you can under the circumstances?"

I sigh and don't respond, but I wave my hand in defeat, and she grins as she continues riffling through the dresses, murmuring, "There’s so many."

"I imagine that many people aren't concerned with gauzy gowns and lingerie in these times," I reply. "Except, apparently, for Negan."

"Well, at least you'll look gorgeous. What about this one?"

I glance up to see her holding up a lacy red dress lined with garish gold sequins, and I can't contain my laughter. 

The door opens before we can stifle the sounds; Negan stands there, brows raised in clear amusement. Carter rises from his place beside me, tail wagging merrily, tongue lolling as he moves to greet Negan. "Having a little girly time? I could hear you two giggling all the way down the fuckin' hall."

"We're picking out Mazia's wedding dress," Kiyah offers, wiggling her brows as she holds up the sequined monstrosity. "What do you think?"

"Short as shit. Bet her legs and ass would look fan-fucking-tastic."

"And that," I intervene, struggling to lift myself from the divan, "is why it's not a wedding dress."

One hand goes to my belly, perfectly round and protruding at nearly seven months, and the other snatches the offending material from my sister, who still can't contain her laughter. 

"Something classy, please," I request, narrowing my eyes at Negan, who's grinning as if he's stumbled upon a goldmine. "And you. Don't encourage her."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, sweetheart, alright. How's my girl?"

"Good," I say, and I mean it. Or, I think I do. Since the day Negan went searching for the Whisperers and found nothing, things have been...quiet. It both placates me, and unnerves me. As much as I wish to believe that the Whisperers have relocated somewhere far away, or that they will wait until after my son is born to attack, I know that it's only wishful thinking. Alpha knows I am pregnant - I have not forgotten her threats that night, in the kitchen. And a part of me, deep down inside, worries that she will wait until I am most vulnerable to attack. 

"That's what I like to fucking hear," Negan says, dragging me out of my reverie as his hand cradles the back of my head. He's so much taller than me, needing to bend down to plant a swift but wonderfully amorous kiss to my lips. It's the sound of Kiyah's wolf-whistle that makes him pull away, a cocky smile settling on his lips as he steps back to bend at the waist, delivering a dramatic bow. 

"Alright, don't inflate his ego," I say, though I can't help my smile as I move to settle back onto the divan with Negan's help. “Though it’s extremely difficult not to.”

Negan grins as he settles in beside me, the two of us absentmindedly watching Kiyah flick through dresses.

“Should you be here for this?” I ask impishly. “You know, the groom isn’t supposed to see the dress.”

“Shit, doll, I didn’t know you were so traditional,” he replies, placing his hand over his heart. “And you want me to leave? I’m wounded.”

“You’ll live. Done heckling Simon for the morning?”

“For now.” He pauses, his fingers drumming a gentle rhythm where they rest near my knee. “We’re going to check on the compounds here soon. Take some supplies to them, make sure everything is in order. See if they’ve noticed anything suspicious. I _should_ go by Hilltop to finally talk to that fucking kid - Lydia - because I'm sure Maggie's too goddamn soft on her, but I'm stopping by Alexandria on the way back.”

He’s been making trips to the community in an attempt to smooth tensions for the last month, but it doesn’t make me anymore comfortable with it, no matter how many men he takes with him. I know that he’s cautious and well-protected (specifically after I begged Arat to hound his steps), and I know that asking to go is pointless for my own safety – for our son’s. I chew at my lip as he mulls over it, until his bare hand lifts to my chin, tilting my face towards his.

“Maz. I’m coming back. You know there’s no fucking way I’m letting anything come between us again. And aren’t you the one that insisted we all need to work together to kill these skin-wearing, rot-smelling, stupid fucking _fucks_?”

“Yes, but maybe with a little less ‘fucks’ thrown in.”

“What about this one?” Kiyah interjects, holding up a silver gown studded in stones that I consider but ultimately shake my head at, making her dive back into the pile. She seems delighted with her task; she’d intended to earn a career in fashion design, before everything had crumbled.

I return my thoughts to Alexandria, and ultimately – inevitably – Dwight. His betrayal still stings despite the months that have passed. Negan must see it in my gaze, because his own hazel eyes harden, his jaw clenching. 

“I haven’t seen the shitbag since that day at the gates,” he says under his breath. “Rick is very wisely keeping him out sight. I’ll ruin the other side of his fucking face before I kill him if I ever get the chance.”

“He’ll get what’s coming to him, one day.” And I hope with all of my heart that he does. But for now…for now, I cannot think of him. “When do you leave?” 

“An hour.”

“And you’ll be back before dark?”

“Should be. You gonna miss me?”

I pause as if considering, though I know he already knows my answer. Instead of replying, I kiss him, the movement slow and filled with all of the love that I can muster. When at last I draw away, it's reluctantly, and he sits with me for a moment longer before sighing. I can't help my smile as he leans down to place a kiss to my belly before he stands, all lean, predatory grace. 

"Keep a watch on your sister, will you?" He says to Kiyah, who salutes him like a dutiful soldier. "She's good at getting into fucking trouble."

"I'm offended," I intone dryly, and Negan only flashes me a grin before he turns and strides from the room, giving me one last flash of his tall stature, his leather jacket, and Lucille swinging at his side before he's gone. I tell myself again and again that it's not for the last time; he's come back from every other trip. _He'll be fine._

I sigh as I settle back against the divan, listening to Kiyah murmur to herself as she sorts through the dresses. And I'm just beginning to dose off, pregnancy exhausting me as always, when she suddenly gives a triumphant "aha!", turning to hold up a dress that I study for a moment before grinning and nodding.

"It's perfect," I say, and I mean it.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeee the big 40 ;) I hope you guys like it!

  


_It just reminds us of the cost_  
_Of everything we've lost_  
_Bad timing, that's all_  


Nine months.

Nine months since Negan and I unintentionally but blessedly conceived our son. 

Nine months of worrying, of fretting, of trying to pave our path. 

Nine months. 

Carson insists that I could go into labor at any time; I have passed my estimated due date. Though he is confident that he and Thomas are beyond capable of delivering our child, his brother at Hilltop is still only a walkie away. 

As for Negan...he's nervous. Excited. And seriously protective, much like everyone else in my life - Carter, Kiyah, Jesus, Maggie, even Simon. 

I feel...massive but glowing. I eat five small but healthy meals a day, with Kiyah carefully monitoring calorie content under Carson's order. 

The baby moves often, and many of my evenings are spent lounging on the sofa in Negan's office, with his hands on my stomach; he loves nothing more than feeling of our son when he moves and kicks. 

My days are spent mostly in our rooms. Cramps and back pain plague me most moments, especially at night, though Carson - and Thomas, who is far more comforting with his patients - insist that it is normal. My weight has plateaued, and I feel little desire to slip from beneath the covers of our bed. 

All signs of labor approaching. 

Negan doesn't bother to go on runs or supply exchanges anymore; he sends Simon, Jed, Arat, and his other entrusted men and women. He is reluctant to be away from me at all, not wanting to miss a moment in case of labor. I am so thankful for him - his foot rubs, his massages, how he helps me reach difficult spots in the bath. For his comfort. 

But it doesn't last. It never does, and a part of me knew exactly what Alpha was waiting for. 

There is no way for her to know whether I've given birth or not. There is only her estimation, her rough math based on the size of my stomach the first time we met - and the last. 

Still, she doesn't attack the Sanctuary. But one early morning, just before dawn breaks, a frantic, thundering knocking jolts Negan and I from our slumber. 

"Negan!" It's Simon screaming from the other side of the office door. His fists fall like hammers, his tone growling, agitated. Negan springs from bed with a string of curses, hastily pulling on his previously discarded sweatpants. 

I sit up, pulling the sheets around my form, hair spilling over my shoulder as I watch him surge into the other room, Carter alert and following. 

"What the fucking _fuck_ do you think you're fucking doing - " he spits as I hear the door swing open, slamming into the wall. 

"They're attacking Hilltop. They know Lydia is there."

"Goddamn it, what the _fuck_." Negan comes surging back into the room, all remnants of sleep gone as he meets my wide, worried eyes. He strides to his dresser, hastily pulling out clothes as I glance towards the office, seeing Simon waiting there. "Mazia. Get up, lets go. Just like we practiced, baby. Lets get you to the infirmary."

I struggle from the bed, my stomach hindering me. I'm clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts, mismatched socks the only thing on my feet. Negan is dressed in record time, and he finishes buckling his belt before he reaches for me, ushering me from the room before I can think. 

"Negan - " I begin to protest, but he doesn't listen. His hand is on my lower back as he ushers me from the office, stopping only long enough to tuck a gun into his belt and grab Lucille. Simon goes ahead of us, his own gun drawn, and Carter trots beside me, ears perked atop his skull. My breath leaves my lungs in quick pants, and a cramping pain surges through me. _Stop stressing. It’s okay. It’s okay._

It takes longer than any of us would like for me to get down the stairs. I hate my weakness in that moment, though I never once blame my child for it. But at last we reach the first floor, and Simon leads us to the infirmary - which is equipped with the sturdiest door in the compound, made of metal with an interior reinforcement and a lock block. 

Simon pounds on it as forcefully as he did the office door; after a moment Carson opens it, groggy, a mug of coffee in his hands. It's an hour before the infirmary officially opens, save for emergencies. 

Simon pushes the door open and Carson stumbles back as Negan leads me inside. He steers me to one of the many empty beds – I’m the only one here. After I’m seated on the cot, he whirls to face Carson, his expression seriously enough to seem deadly. “We’re going to Hilltop. The Whisperers are attacking there. Just as we fucking practiced, Carson. No one but you, Thomas, and Kiyah in the room – we’ll send her here on our way out. Do not open that fucking door for anyone. I don’t care if they’re bleeding all over the goddamn floor out there. I don’t care if they’re dying. Do not. Open. The fucking Door. Unless it’s Simon or I with the password.”

Carson swallows and nods, silent. Negan turns back to me then, and he must see the tears gathering in my eyes. I don’t want him to go. I’m terrified to see him leave, terrified that I cannot go with him, that I cannot protect him. His hands cradle my face and he exhales raggedly as he leans down, forehead against mine. “Maz. Baby. You know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to. I gotta be there for the Saviors. I gotta make sure these fuckers are fucking _dead_ once and for all.”

“I know,” I say, despite how my heart throbs and aches, despite how I want to cling to him and beg him to say. But my jaw clenches hard, keeping the words inside.

“I’m gonna have Kiyah bring Carter’s vest. Keep him with you, at all costs. Do not leave this fucking room, Mazia.”

I can hear the fear in his voice, despite the hardness of it. He doesn’t want to go either, but this is something he has to do. For the Sanctuary, for me. For our son. So I nod as he brushes the tears from my cheek and leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips just as another cramp surges through me. I bite down my gasp in favor of kissing him back; I cannot continue to stress as I do. It is very clearly upsetting my body. But that’s easier said than done.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers against my lips, a promise, an oath. He clings to me for as long as he can, and when he pulls away, it is reluctantly. His hand remains in my hair, releasing it bit by bit until the last strand falls away. Our gazes hold each others, and finally he shudders and turns, swinging Lucille onto his shoulder, straightening his back. He strides from the room too quickly – my last glimpse of him comes and goes before I know it.

I shiver as I look up, noticing that Thomas is slipping from one of the back rooms that belongs to Carson and his aids – which, currently, is only Thomas. And then my gaze flicks towards the door, seeing that Simon is still present just as he strides forward. He is solemn, his gaze heavy as he studies me, and at last his arm reaches out as he places a heavy hand on my shoulder. My face crumples, and before I know it my face is pressed against his chest. After Dwight’s betrayal, I’ve been so reluctant to befriend anyone else. But Simon…he is different. Gruff, but loyal to the bone.

His hands rubs swift circles on my back. After a second he draws back, pressing a walkie into my hand. “Keep this on you. If anything changes – if the Sanctuary is attacked, or something happens with you – you let us fucking know, Mazia. Promise me.”

My voice sticks briefly before sounding in a croak. “I promise.”

His eyes meet mine for a series of heartbeats, and then he turns. And just like Negan, he is gone.

It’s not long before a knock sounds on the door, light but insistent. Carson glances up sharply, calling, “What’s the word?”

“Emil.” It’s Kiyah’s voice, speaking the name that Negan and I agreed upon for our son. Thomas hurries to the door, opening it a crack to admit her. She slips in, wild hair brushing her collarbone, her expression alert and protective as she rushes to me, Carter’s vest in her hands. After ensuring that I am fine, she bends to strap him into it, and then she slips onto the bed beside me, fingers entwining with my own.

For a moment, no one speaks. The only noise is the sound of the metal door locking; there are multiple chain locks along with the lock block, each echoing as they clang shut with finality.

Another cramp sweeps through me. This time, I cannot hold in my gasp. Thomas is at my side immediately, warm brown eyes alert.

“Mazia?” He asks, voice gentle. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just – I think I need to calm down. I’m stressed out. I’m having cramps.”

“Cramps?” His brows skyrocket, and he glances towards Carson, who shuffles over. “How far apart?”

“Every few minutes. You don’t think it’s - ?”

“Maybe. But don’t freak out. Cramps and contractions can happen days in advance of labor.”

I believe him – for perhaps two hours. I think of Negan, of the way his eyes crinkle at the corner when he laughs, the look in his hazel eyes when he gazes at me, the sound of his rumbling voice when he comforts me and massages my feet. I think of Simon, his mustache twitching when he smiles, the over-animated way he gestures when he’s excited about something. I think of Alpha, her head shaved and smooth, gleaming beneath the lights of the compound as she chased Maggie and I, a vicious, murderous look in her normally dead eyes. I think of Beta, massive and fueled by rage as he swung again and again at Simon. I think of Lydia, the tidbits of information I gleaned from Maggie: her willingness to share the Whisperers secrets, her scorn for her own mother, her fondness of Carl. 

I think of Negan – again and again and again. I cannot keep him from my thoughts. My tawny eyes remain trained on the door, restlessly waiting for the moment when his knock sounds, the name of our son spilling from his lips. 

The smell of coffee is strong as Carson brews another pot; he and Thomas are diligent in their duties, never leaving. Once, as Thomas goes pacing past the door, his lab coat shifts and I see the holster of a gun beneath. They are prepared to protect me with their lives.

The pain begins to come more frequently after a time, and Carter becomes restless, pacing around my bed.

Suddenly I jolt upwards, gritting my teeth as I shove Kiyah off of the bed. She yelps, confused, but then she looks down…and freezes.

“Thomas,” I say. My voice is calmer than it has any right to be, when inside I am screaming, scrambling, afraid. Thomas and Carson both rush over as I look up, tears burning my eyes. I cannot believe that this is happening, now. I cannot believe that Alpha’s timing was so impeccable. She has drawn Negan away from me in the moment that I need him the most, perhaps without even realizing that she has done so. A laugh bubbles from my throat, desperate and ragged. 

Carson and Thomas begin vaulting around the room like madmen as Kiyah takes the walkie from me, pacing to the corner as if she will find silence there. She presses down on the button, her voice high-pitched and panicked as she speaks into the bulky black device.

“Simon. Negan.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Simon’s voice crackles through, loud, agitated…and a little afraid, as if he does not want to hear what she will say. “What is it?”

“Mazia’s water just broke.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so soooo sorry for the wait - but I have a valid excuse this time! I very recently (like, yesterday) got out of a long stay in the hospital for pancreatitis and liver issues that lead to a biopsy. Man, I'm tired and sore as shit, but I couldn't wait to write this.

  


_I'll seek you out_  
_Flay you alive_  
_One more word_  
_and you won't survive_  


Hilltop is absolute chaos.

The majority of the forces, when Negan arrives, are trying to hold the main house against the Whisperers, presumably to stop them from reaching Lydia – the only leverage that the communities have. The Alexandrians are already present, and later Negan will have to try to wrangle a sarcastic ‘thank you’ out of Rick for the walkies that the Saviors provided each of the communities with.

It feels like the night of the attack on the Sanctuary all over again, when Negan broke free of his cage (or, rather, was released from it) and returned to find everything in shambles. At least this time, they’re far as fuck away from Mazia.

Simon and Arat flank him the moment he steps from the Jeep, hazel eyes sweeping the area, looking for two people in particular. It isn’t hard for his gaze to find Beta – the massive fucker in impossible to miss as he attempts to physically strong-arm people out of his way. Shame that the glancing blows to his head didn’t kill the bastard once and for all. 

But Negan intends to fix that.

Beta doesn’t see him as Negan carves a path through Whisperers with Lucille in hand and a bowie at his belt, which he’d brought along to rival the much larger man’s identical weapon. Simon is somewhere off to the side of him as the rest of the Saviors rally behind their leader, assaulting the Whisperers from the back as the Hilltop and Alexandria press in from the sides. 

He has eyes only for Beta, and though his head is unfortunately out of reach, it doesn’t stop Negan from swinging Lucille viciously, a grunt slipping from his lips from the force of his movement. Beta gives a roar of surprise and pain as something in his left shoulder pops, flesh dangling alongside cloth as Lucille rips it from bone. Blood splatters as Beta whirls, murder in his eyes when he spots Negan, left arm incapacitated. The left side of his bald head is thick with gnarled scars from Lucille’s barbed-blow months ago. 

“Oh, _man_ ,” Negan crows, Lucille dangling from one hand as the other pulls the bowie from its sheath. “How the fuck is it even possible for you to be any uglier? Shit, I really did a number on ya, big guy.”

The bastard growls like some rabies-infected mutt before lunging at Negan with a speed that’s surprising for the behemoth. But Negan is quicker, and though his arm tires quickly as he lifts his knife to deflect blow after devastating blow, he will not allow himself to give in. Not with so much on the line.

“Where’s Alpha?” He taunts, trying to distract the man, who snarls and scowls. “Last I saw her, she was scurrying from _my_ kitchens like a fucking rat, wheezing and bleeding all over the goddamn floor. Punctured lung, right? Did it kill the bitch?”

Something guarded flashes in Beta’s eyes, something that makes Negan pause. It’s a mistake – the tip of Beta’s own bowie darts beneath his unzipped jacket, ripping through his t-shirt and piercing the flesh. A pained breath hisses through Negan’s teeth as he quickly backpedals, relieved to find that the wound isn’t terribly deep. _Get your goddamn head out of your ass. A little closer and he’d have gutted you like a fucking fish._

“Oh, come on,” Negan presses, his boots digging into the earth as he surges forward again, long arms slicing a gash dangerously close to Beta’s own guts. “Just tell me. Is she still alive? Because if not, I’d _really_ like to dance on her fucking corpse.”

Beta snarls, a feral, animalistic noise that sounds distinctly like a bear’s growl. Negan’s wild laughter only infuriates the man further as the two continue to slice and move, a continuous game of advance-and-retreat. They’ve maneuvered away from the main house now, and as Negan ducks and whirls to avoid a blow aimed at his skull, he catches a glimpse of one of the windows on the side – where two Whisperers are climbing through.

Fuck. Beta’s been distracting him, and as much as Negan wants to slaughter the fucker, he knows that keeping Lydia is important – and that there’s a good chance Alpha may be inside.

“Simon!” He roars as he abruptly switches tactics, swinging Lucille instead of the bowie, the barbed wire scraping against Beta’s ribs. The man is bleeding from several wounds, but the massive brute just _won’t go down_ , and Negan is quickly tiring. 

Simon appears from the fray, and it only takes one look exchanged between he and Negan for the man to step in, the two of them smoothly switching places as Negan tosses him the bowie. Simon is shorter than Negan, but his muscled arms are thicker – not to mention that he hasn’t been hacking away at Beta for the last ten goddamn minutes. Beta gives a roar of frustration as Negan whirls, sprinting for the house. There’s no sound of heavy footsteps following, so he figures Simon has managed to deter the man.

He vaults through the shattered window with a grunt, Lucille clutched tightly as he glances around. It’s clear that there aren’t many intruders inside – the house is quiet, aside from the clamor of Hilltop reinforcements that he hears from the foyer. But when he pokes his head inside, there’s no sign of the two skinwalkers he spotted, and he curses under his breath as he takes the staircase two at a time.

He pauses on the landing, straining to hear. He knows exactly where Lydia’s prison – or, rather, room – is, but there are several open doors between hers at the end of the hall and where he stands. Rooms that the fuckers could be hiding in, just waiting for him to pass. And Maggie – where the fuck is Maggie? He doesn’t really give a shit about her, but little Hershel…his stomach twists strangely, and he hopes the kid is fucking safe. It makes him think of Mazia.

_No time for that now. The sooner you move your ass, the sooner you can go home to her._

Slowly, carefully, he creeps down the hall, trying to avoid any spots on the stupid fucking wooden floor that might creak and give him away. It’s far too quiet up here, the sound of the battle outside muffled and muted.

He finds one of the men two doors down from Lydia’s, huddled just inside the frame, waiting. The man jabs at him with a crudely crafted spear, but Negan is quicker, bringing Lucille down hard. There’s an obscene crack, a wet gurgling noise as the man falls, and the familiar spray of blood and brains across his face that makes Negan grin. Then he’s moving again, ducking out to check the other rooms, finding them empty.

There’s a headache throbbing behind his eyes as he slowly approaches Lydia’s door, turning the knob to find it unlocked. Not a good fucking sign. When he pushes it inwards, his hazel eyes scan the room, discovering several things at once.

Lydia is nowhere in sight. The Hilltop woman charged with guarding her is dead, a weeping hole between her eyes. Which makes him sharply, distinctly aware that the other Whisperer has a gun. 

He jolts back just as the sound of the weapon firing cracks through the room; pain blazes through him and blood sprays as the bullet finds its way home just beneath his collarbone on the left side. No time to falter; the skin-clad female is charging at him with her lips peeled back in a snarl, and he lifts Lucille between them.

It’s her own momentum that kills her; the Whisperer is on him just as the bat lifts, accidentally crushing her own windpipe against the wood, the barbed wire shredding the skin of her throat. She slumps backwards, but Negan doesn’t take any chances; he swings down again and again until there’s nothing left of her skull but fragmented bits of bone, gore, and blood. 

He’s breathing hard as he slumps against the bedroom wall, gritting his teeth against the pain. He’s been fucking _shot_ , Lydia is nowhere in sight, and he’s getting too old for this shit. But just as he’s getting ready to turn and leave, he hears a faint scuffle from beneath the bed and pauses.

“Lydia? Is that fucking you?” 

At the telltale sound of his voice, the slip of a girl slides from beneath the bed, blonde hair damp with sweat as she gazes up at him. Before he can speak again, a rush of words are coming from her lips. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to see her. I _hate her_.”

 _Well, shit._ He exhales raggedly as he crouches before her on the balls of his heels, ignoring the blood that slips down his torn leather jacket. “You don’t have to go back; fuck that.” He feels…shit, he feels bad for her. With a kid of his own soon to be born, he’s gotten soft concerning the strange, mysterious nature of parenting. 

She says nothing as she warily stands and observes him. Wordlessly she turns and strides to a wooden dresser, pulling open one of the drawers and extracting a dark t-shirt from within. 

“You need to put pressure on that,” she says, tossing the shirt to Negan, who balls it up and stuffs it against the bullet wound with a hiss. He can’t feel an exit wound on his back, which means Carson will have to extract the fucking thing. But first…

“Is your fucking mo- is Alpha here?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

Dread uncoils inside of him and slithers down into his belly at the same moment that he hears boots thundering up the stairs. 

“Negan!” It’s Simon; his voice is loud, reckless, and Negan knows something isn’t right judging by the lack of the usual moniker, ‘boss’. 

Simon hurtles into the room, pausing long enough to take in the sight of Lydia, the two corpses on the floor, and Negan’s wound. But Negan is more focused on what Simon is holding in his hand – the walkie.

“What the fuck is it?”

“Mazia’s in labor.”

\--- 

“Fucking goddamn cocksucking _fuck_.”

The string of curses haven’t stopped since the moment Simons’ grave words reached Negan’s ears. He’s in the passenger seat of the Jeep as it roars down the highway at a dangerous pace, Saviors piled in the back, all of them armed and silent, Lydia wedged between them. 

He hadn’t stopped to think for even a moment; he hadn’t bothered to tell Rick, or Jesus, or any of those other fuckers where he was going. He’d left the majority of his men at Hilltop to continue to offer reinforcements, and he hadn’t had time to figure out what to do with Lydia before ordering Simon to bring her along.

Mazia is in labor. Alpha is not at Hilltop. Things are royally fucked.

_NotimeNotimeNotime_

The words blur together into one long, dizzying stream in his head. The miles fly passed beneath them, and his heart nearly seizes as the Sanctuary looms high above in the distance. So close.

But suddenly the Jeep begins to slow. He turns to snap at Simon, to curse him, to demand that he _keep fucking going or else_ \- but then he sees it. A car ahead of them – a car that he’s certain belongs to Hilltop. Why would men from Hilltop be racing towards the Sanctuary…? 

And then it clicks. 

Simon realizes it at the same moment that he does. The Jeep snarls as it accelerates again. It’s clear that whoever is in the stolen car has noticed them – it begins to pick up speed, too. But it’s older, slower, and Simon is a relentless fucking driver.

They’re on the other car in an instant, and Negan can’t say that he isn’t impressed when Simon maneuvers to the side of it, before abruptly swerving. The front of the Jeep clips the back end of the car, and it spins as Simon slams on the breaks so hard to avoid the whirling metal that Negan’s neck snaps forward, making him groan in protest.

_No time._

The car slams into a tree as the Jeep screeches to a halt. His hunch was right – three of the doors open, and skin-clad men and women begin to swarm out. The passenger door, crushed against the tree, remains shut – he hopes that the mangled corpse on that side belongs to Alpha, but luck isn’t in his favor.

He sees her smooth skull as he springs from the Jeep alongside Simon and the other Saviors, and across the short distance, their eyes meet – his alight with fury and fear, hers strangely cold and detached as she smiles. There’s three Whisperers flanking her, and five Saviors, including himself and Simon.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you put it together so quickly,” Alpha murmurs with a dramatic but emotionless sigh. “I knew you’d leave your pregnant pet back at the Sanctuary. Pity that you came so quickly.”

The rage coursing through Negan’s veins is pure and undiluted, his grip on Lucille painful. His wounded shoulder gives a throb that he ignores as he gazes at Alpha. He knows that his men have guns trained on the foul-smelling group, but he won’t tell them to shoot. _He_ wants to be the one to kill her with his bare fucking hands.

“You’re a little predictable, sweetheart,” he says with a wild smile. _No time._ She can’t know that Mazia is in labor, but her timing couldn’t be fucking worse. “You are _so_ going to regret fucking with me.”

“Big words,” Alpha replies dismissively, edging away as he takes a single step forward. 

“Let’s save the chit-chat bullshit and finish this, right here, right now.” Negan holds out his arms despite the pain and blood on his left side, Lucille stretching far to the right. “I can’t fucking _wait_ to see you bleed.”

“Perhaps it’s your own bleeding that you should be concerned with.” She clicks her tongue. “Nasty wound.”

He says nothing – he doesn’t have to. There are no words in that moment for the hatred that Negan feels, superior to any he’s felt before – even for Rick. 

“Mom?” 

The little voice from the Jeep makes Alpha show the first sign of emotion Negan has seen since he’s known her. Her eyes widen a fraction and her head tilts, craning her neck to look for her daughter. But when she speaks, her words are cold and furious. “I told you not to call me that, you weak girl. Be quiet, and we’ll discuss all of this when the matter at hand has been dealt with.”

The words have barely left Alpha’s mouth before Negan is lunging, taking her off guard – which is exactly what Lydia was offering him, a tiny gift in thanks for him saving her from the searching Whisperers. Alpha is a quick bitch, darting away from him as he follows. His Saviors begin firing at the other Whisperers, riddling them with bullets, but leaving Alpha purposely unscathed. They know their leader well.

He runs her down as she tries to flee from him, the woman desperately trying to find a moment of respite to gather her bearings. But he won’t let her; his blood roars in his ears as Lucille catches her at the base of her neck, making her cry out as she crumples, bone crunching. Not dead – but paralyzed. 

He kneels beside her, laying Lucille at his side so that he can roughly toss her onto her back like a ragdoll, making another jagged yelp escape from her lips. Never has he seen fear in Alpha’s eyes…but Negan does now.

He can see white all around her blue pupils as she stares up at him, unable to move, to flee, the pain in her body clearly unimaginable. He’s smiling as he hears the Saviors and Lydia fan out behind him, watching.

“I told you,” Negan purrs, “that I’d see you bleed.” 

He holds out one hand behind him, and Simon doesn’t falter for even a second as he places the handle of the bowie in Negan’s gloved palm. 

Negan runs the tip of the blade across Alpha’s scalp and down one side of her cheek slowly, reverently, watching the gash that appears. Just deep enough to hurt like fucking hell. But she doesn’t cry out again – her teeth are clinched shut hard as blood pours in rivulets down across her chest. 

He doesn’t know if she can feel it when he sinks the blade into her gut – he hopes she can. It will kill her quickly, but not immediately, and so he lifts the bowie again, cutting into tendon and bone, sawing through her throat as blood pours across his hands. It’s up to his elbows by the time he’s done, and he drops the knife as he lifts her severed hand between his palms, her expression twisted in one of agony and disbelief. 

A triumph. A trophy that makes his blood sing. He laughs as he stands and whirls, already striding back towards the Jeep, his urgency pounding through him.

_No time._

\--- 

His fists pound hard against the reinforced door in the infirmary the moment he reaches it, the sound of wails within making his panic surge – he can practically taste the fear in his mouth, metallic and harsh. 

“Carson! Open this goddamn fucking door right _fucking now_ , I swear to fucking god – “ 

From his place beside Negan, with one hand wrapped around Lydia’s arm and the other carefully around the handle of Lucille, Simon calls, “Emil.” In his terror, Negan hadn’t even remembered to call the code. 

There’s the sound of locks clicking, but still, it takes entirely too fucking long for the door to open. Thomas stands there, hair mused, eyes dark. Negan shoves him aside as he lurches into the room. There’s a wet thump from beside his feet that has him glancing down – Alpha’s head, which had slipped from his hands. He’d forgotten he still had it.

Wildly, his gaze lifts to take in the sterile room. Carson is standing beside one of the beds, Kiyah on the other side, both of them murmuring words that Negan cannot hear to Mazia.

She’s propped against the back of the mattress, knees stubbornly squeezed together, eyes shut as tears leak down her cheeks. She’s shaking her head furiously against whatever they’re saying, sweat glistening on her brow, hair wild. “No. _No_ , not until he’s here – “

She’s in her own little world of pain if she didn’t hear the way Negan was pounding on the door and screaming. He can see the agony etched across her face as another contraction sweeps through her, making her cry out.

He’s across the room in a few strides, bounding over Carter’s restlessly pacing form, his hip nudging the bed painfully as he maneuvers Kiyah out of the way. He reaches for Mazia, faltering at the last moment as he spots Alpha’s blood still soaking his hands. But he can’t stop the words that pour from his mouth. “Mazia, baby, I’m here, I’m fucking here, I’m sorry – “

At last she hears him. Her eyes fly open and she sobs, not caring about the blood and gore as she reaches for him, though Carson flinches at the sight. “I thought you wouldn’t make it, I thought you weren’t coming, _Negan_ \- “

His heart breaks at the pain in her voice, thick and fearful, and his forehead drops to rest against hers, his wounded shoulder forgotten - _everything_ forgotten except for her. “I know. I fucking know. But I’m here, and – “

“And you need to push,” Carson says. “Now.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not a mother so I know literally nothing about the birthing process; thanks, WebMD, for saving me this chapter. If I downplayed any part of it, don’t hate me! I tried :P I don’t skip over the birth, but it’s nothing graphic, and it doesn’t last the entire chapter. 
> 
> I’m thinking that the last chapter of this fic will be Chapter 50. It seems so soon, and I don’t know if I’m fully ready to let go of Mazia and Negan’s story yet…but I know that it can’t go on forever, unfortunately.

  


_It’s more than love_  
_More than anything_  
_I could understand_  
_It's more than love_  
_More than anything_  
_That could be explained_  


Giving birth to our son is the most difficult thing that I have ever had to do.

There is no epidural, no pain management, nothing but Negan urging me on as I crush his hand in my own; nothing but Kiyah on the other side of me wiping my brow as Carson and Thomas give the imminent arrival of the baby their full attention.

There is blood speckling each doctor's hands as they work, their faces partially concealed by their medical masks but their eyes serious when I catch glimpses of them. I’m dimly aware of Carter waiting in the corner of the room, panting nervously, unsure of what is going on but knowing somehow that it’s very important.

“You’re doing great, Mazia,” comes Carson’s voice from between my knees, but I only tip my head back and groan in response. It’s a strangled, pained noise that makes Negan tense beside me, and he moves to take the cold cloth from Kiyah, gently dabbing at my forehead even as I struggle to continue to push. The pain is unlike anything I’ve felt before – worse than the crushed bones in my ankle as I dragged myself and that damned animal trap from the freezing water. Worse than my ribs after the fall from the balcony that ended in Caden’s death. Worse, even, than the pain of spending lonely nights in our bed by myself.

Time seems to pass slowly, or perhaps not at all. There is nothing but moments of pain, moments where I push with all of my seemingly unimpressive might as those around me continue to offer encouragements in words that sometimes I hear, and sometimes don’t. Strands of my hair are plastered to my cheeks and temples, sweat gleams on every inch of my skin, and not for the first time, I begin to panic. 

What if something is wrong? I know nothing about labor, too young to remember Kiyah’s birth, though I was at the hospital for the event. But Carson and Thomas, serious though they are, don’t seem particularly worried. It’s a small scrap of reassurance through the waves of the agony.

Minutes stretch, and finally I pause, letting my chin dip down until it rests on my heaving chest, shaking my head. “I can’t do this.”

“You need to keep pushing, Maz,” comes Kiyah’s voice from beside me, but I shake my head more vigorously.

“I _can’t_ \- “

“Mazia.” It’s Negan’s voice that draws my gaze to him. He’s kneeling beside the bed now, kneeling like the Saviors do when he passes, both of his hands folded over mine. Concern and support shine in his hazel eyes as he gazes at me. “You’re doing a fucking fantastic job, baby. It’s almost over. You gotta keep going.”

I shift to bury my face in his shoulder with a little sob, but jerk back as he stiffens. I hadn’t noticed the wound before, but I do now, and my stress skyrockets further, if possible. “You’re hurt,” I choke out, my voice hoarse from screaming. 

“That doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters but you, and you _have to keep going._ ”

 _Keep going. Keep going._ I repeat the mantra again and again, endless times throughout the next hour as I push and labor, trying my hardest. And just as Thomas’ face clouds with concern, just as he begins to murmur something I almost miss to Carson about “failure to progress”, the older doctor straightens and glances up to meet my gaze. 

“I can see his head, Mazia. It’s going to be hard, but I need you to push a little more gently, and sit up. We’re going to try to minimize tearing.” His words are daunting, terrifying, but I nod as fresh tears leak down my cheeks. It _burns_ , and for a moment I’m unable to move, paralyzed by the intense pain. Kiyah and Negan wind their arms around my shoulders, working together to gently maneuver me into a sitting position.

“It’s the final stretch, Maz,” says Negan before pausing and grinning. “No pun intended.”

“You did _not_ ,” I grit out between my teeth as Kiyah tries to stifle her surprised laughter. But the end of the ordeal is near, and a surge of determination courses through me as I try to slow my body’s natural urge to push hard. But I follow Carson’s orders, soldiering through the stinging.

“Pant during the contractions to help,” Thomas advises, his words distant, as if through a tunnel. But I obey, feeling like a blown horse as slowly, so slowly, Carson works to deliver my child.

“Here’s his forehead,” Carson says, his voice pitched slightly higher in relief. “His nose…mouth…Thomas, bring the clamps and the suction.” 

“Suction?” I wheeze as Thomas practically jogs out of my vision. 

“To clear the airway. His head is out, Mazia. Keep pushing gently – I’m just going to check his neck now, make sure the cord isn’t wrapped…” His words fade, his hands working as I continue to push with as much control as I can muster. Thomas returns with the little tube-like contraption, offering it to Carson.

“Alright, Mazia. Push – his shoulders are almost out. Good, good…and there he is!”

I collapse back against the mattress with a gasp, watching through half-lidded eyes as Carson passes a tiny little body to Thomas, who pauses long enough for Carson to clamp and cut the umbilical cord before he whirls away, baby in hand. 

“Where is he taking him?” I demand, weakness forgotten, pushed aside by concern. “Is he okay? What’s going on?”

“He’s just cleaning him up, doll,” Negan says reassuringly, head craning to trace Thomas’ movements. I nod, and a moment later Thomas returns, a grin on his face that warms my heart as a little cry rings out. 

And then suddenly my arms are reaching out as if of their own accord. Thomas passes me a blanketed bundle, and in the next moment, my son is cradled against my chest.

He is so tiny, so fragile, with a small, damp thatch of dark hair on his head and little eyes that scrunch up in confused displeasure. But then they open, so impossibly large, and he gazes at me. The dam inside of me breaks, tears flowing freely as I turn to look at Negan, who has bent closer to stare at our child with wet, glistening eyes. 

“He’s here,” I whisper, elation and relief warring inside of me. I can’t keep the smile off of my face; it stretches wide and free, matching Negan’s own grin as we both take in the little wriggling body in my arms. 

“Emil,” Negan says, his voice deeper than usual, thick with emotion. The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkles as his smile widens even more, one hand lifting to gently rest upon the back of the baby’s head. Emil looks even smaller with Negan’s long fingers cradling him, and beside me, Kiyah begins to cry as she, too, crouches down to gaze at the baby. 

Exhaustion threatens, but I’m not ready to close my eyes, not willing to miss even an instant. I don’t even flinch as Carson begins to request tools from Thomas to sew my skin; there is no more fear, no more worry, no more pain.

As Negan leans down to place a soft, stubbly kiss first against Emil’s forehead, and then mine, there is nothing but pure, untainted love.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this is long overdue. I can't remember if I've mentioned this in previous chapters, but I live in a very popular spring break location, and a huge tourist town, so things have become so crazy not only with work, but also with medical stuff. Buuut here it is!

  


_It was the moment of bliss_  
_I know it's hard to forgive_  
_It's not too late for changes_  


“This is _long_ overdue,” I murmur under my voice, a little pair of scissors in one hand as I advance towards where Negan sprawls in a chair beside the bed.

His eyebrows skyrocket, and he lifts his hand to run long fingers through his thick hair. “I didn’t know you hated my hair _this_ much.”

“I don’t hate your hair,” I tell him, stepping behind him and swatting his hand away before taking several of the long strands between my fingers. “I hate you looking like a girl.”

“Well excuse the shit out of me, but I haven’t exactly had time to cut it. Besides, you don’t seem to think I look like a girl when we’re - ”

“Language,” I admonish, glancing towards the crib beside our bed where Emil sleeps soundly. Carter is curled up beneath it, his breathing steady but ears perked, straining for the sound of anyone who might dare approach the child he has become so very protective of.

“He’s only a week old, he’s not gonna remember me saying shit, or fuck, or – “

“Negan. Let’s not forget that one of your arms is still in a sling; you’re at my mercy.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he replies, but I hear the grin in his voice, and it makes me smile as I begin to trim to strands of his hair. The dark locks fall to form a puddle around the ground, growing more and more as I snip away.

“Maybe I should buzz it,” I say contemplatively, unable to help my laughter when he winces.

“Don’t you dare. The hair is part of the charm.”

I hum in response, immersing myself in ensuring that my hands are steady, the haircut even. It’s been…strangely peaceful since I gave birth to Emil, as if his arrival in the world quieted the havoc and insanity that usually rages around us. Beta is still out there somewhere, but the Whisperers are fractured and broken, the majority of their numbers dashed against Hilltop’s walls, dead, gone, never to haunt us again. Simon and the other Saviors have been searching for the survivors, still; Negan is determined to make sure that every last one of them is gone.

In his crib, Emil stirs, and Negan comically freezes, like a deer in headlights. Carter’s head lifts immediately, too, both of them watching with baited breath, waiting to hear a snuffle or cry. But Emil simply stills once more, and Negan sighs.

For a newborn, our son has been surprisingly docile. He cries of course, fusses and wakes us at odd hours, but according to Maggie, he’s nothing like the colicky Hershel was. 

Already, she’s come to see him twice, with Jesus in tow. Emil seemed practically delighted over Maggie’s gentle cooing, but he was downright fascinated with Jesus, chubby fists always reaching for the man’s long hair.

As for the Alexandrians, none of them have met Emil – yet. That will change today, when they come for the exchange, along with the Kingdom and Hilltop. Negan is strangely nervous over the idea of Rick being near his son; he pretends as if he isn’t, but I can see it in the tenseness of his uninjured shoulder, the set to his jaw.

After a moment I step away, brushing at his neck as I peer at my work. “Not bad.” 

He surges to his feet, all long-legged grace, striding quietly across the room to glance into the nearest mirror with a low whistle. “Damn, doll. I think you made me look even _more_ handsome, if that’s even possible.” 

“Never doubt my skills.” I pause long enough to slip the little pair of scissors back into a drawer before turning to face him, leaning my hip against the dresser behind me. “What are you doing?”

He freezes midway through the process of trying to quietly wiggle out of his sling, flashing me a wide grin. “What, you think I’m going to see Rick with this stupid fucking thing on?” 

I only sigh at his resumed cursing, though it’s half-hearted; he _did_ have a point about Emil being too young to understand, after all. “Did you clear it with Carson?”

“I’m fucking fine. He said it could come off in a week, anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m sure he meant you should go to him for a check-up, first.”

“No time, doll. You wanna help me take this off?”

“Only if you promise to take it easy,” I warn. “No swinging Lucille around wildly, no over-exaggerated motions – “

“Yes, momma bear,” he coos, ignoring my glare as I advance towards him to unbuckle the straps of the sling. By the time I’ve finished, Emil is beginning to stir once more; Negan’s gaze follows me as I move to the crib, unable to contain my smile as our son’s eyes open, peering up at me. 

Just as I lift him into my arms, the walkie perched upon the desk in the office crackles. “Communities are approaching the gate, boss.” 

Negan sighs, shrugging on his jacket as he glances towards where I stand with Emil, Carter already rising beside me. “You ready?”

“We’re not going to war,” I tell him gently as I pause long enough to swaddle Emil in his fuzzy green blanket. “We’re just going to melt a few hearts with this adorable little face.” 

“Yeah, well, if Rick even _looks_ at him the wrong way – “

“ – you’ll rip both of his arms off and use them to beat the shit out of him,” I murmur, repeating his words that have become a mantra since we awoke. 

“Exactly.” He watches with Lucille grasped in the hand of his good arm as I move from the bedroom, Emil still cradled safely against my chest, Carter hot on my heels. Negan follows just as closely as I step out into the hall, humming under my breath for the baby’s benefit. He is all wide-eyed wonder, every little thing catching his gaze as we move down the stairwell and through the compound, my steps gentle, Negan’s thundering. 

The sky above is a soft, pale blue as we step out into the sunlight, immediately catching the attention of the Savior’s who mill about, their gazes torn from the trucks and cars filing into the gates as they kneel. Almost immediately Negan is gesturing for them to rise, and they fall in behind us as we move towards where the members of the other communities are climbing from their vehicles.

I feel Negan’s hand as it settles on my lower-back, a reassurance to me and a threat to everyone else. I almost roll my eyes - _almost_ \- but don’t, knowing that he means well, and strangely pleased with his protectiveness. 

Maggie is the first to reach us, though Jesus isn’t far behind. Her face is alight as she grins at Emil, who focuses on her briefly before he spots Jesus, who holds his attention – as always. “How are you doing?” Maggie asks, and I shrug. 

“Good. He’s nursing well. A little sleep-deprived, but…Negan helps.” I say the last bit under my breath, and Maggie smiles knowingly, both of us glancing towards Negan, who isn’t listening to our conversation anymore. Instead, he’s watching with a predatory gleam in his eyes as Rick approaches, Michonne trailing behind him. Ezekiel isn’t far, either; it’s the first time he’s been back to the Sanctuary since he began sending Richard in his stead. 

“Rick!” Negan crows, and Emil flinches, earning Negan not only my glare – but Maggie’s and Jesus’ as well, to my amusement. When he speaks again, his voice is a tad quieter. “Isn’t he the cutest damn kid you’ve ever seen in your life?”

As if to punctuate his father’s point, Emil gives a delighted little gurgle just as Rick’s gaze shifts to him. The usual guardedness on Rick’s features shifts and softens a fraction, and instead of answering Negan, he looks at me. 

“He _is_ adorable,” Rick says, and if I’m not mistaken, he _almost_ smiles. 

Ezekiel, on the other hand, doesn’t bother to try to hide his grin as he stops in front of us, not missing how Carter maneuvers himself in front of me. “Look at the child! Why, how delightful! May I hold him?”

Though I feel Negan tense beside me, I see no reason why not. Ezekiel is watching me closely, searching my expression, likely remembering the same scenario as I – he in front of me, Shiva behind, Alexandria in shambles around us. But that was a different time, when our communities warred, before we worked together. And with so many people surrounding us that would kill for Emil – the Saviors, Negan, Maggie, Jesus, Carter, Simon – I smile and nod. I have been to the Kingdom; I have seen how Ezekiel is with the children of the community. So I step forward and gently place Emil in his arms. 

Negan hovers at my side almost nervously, his gaze just as sharp and attentive as Carter’s. But Ezekiel isn’t studying them anymore; he’s beaming down at Emil, who doesn’t seem to know quite what to think of Ezekiel.

“Look at those eyes! You’ll be a fierce warrior one day – and perhaps a fierce breaker of hearts, as well.”

My eyebrows skyrocket as I glance towards Jesus, who is struggling to contain his own grin. If someone had told me months ago that Ezekiel would be baby-talking my son in that strange way of his, I might have laughed myself unconscious at the visual alone.

For a moment, we all stand and watch as Ezekiel rocks Emil, cooing. And then suddenly Emil’s face scrunches up, his eyes close, and he begins to _wail_. Negan is the quickest to react, shoving Lucille into the hands of the nearest Savior and rocketing forward to scoop the baby into his arms, immediately beginning to rock him himself. And after a moment Emil quiets again aside from little gurgles and sniffles as Ezekiel smiles ruefully. 

“Ah, well, perhaps I scared him a bit,” the man says, sounding no less cheerful. 

“Carl cried if _anyone_ other than his mom held him for months,” Rick confides, more to Michonne than the rest of us, though his gaze flicks to me after he’s finished speaking. There’s still tension between he and Negan, and certainly the surrounding Saviors…but if I’m not mistaken, it’s lessened just a bit.

“Yeah, well. I think the men are done exchanging shit,” Negan says, making no move to pass Emil back to me. It’s a stunning sight, he in his usual leather and boots, with a tiny, swaddled baby in his arms. It’s hard for me to tear my gaze away from him, but I do at last, watching as Rick nods and moves as if to follow Ezekiel away. But before he can, Negan stops him.

“Rick! One more thing. See if that preacher of yours is alright with marrying us next month. Say…a week after the next collection?” He glances towards me at this, and I nod, the movement a tiny bob of my head. We discussed it the night before, but hearing it said out loud in front of everyone makes me feel strangely giddy. 

Rick pauses for a moment, but then nods, murmuring a gruff, “I will.” And then he’s gone, Ezekiel and Michonne alongside him as they move towards the trucks to check the supplies. 

Likewise, Negan is distracted by Simon’s approach, still holding Emil as he moves off to the side to speak to the man. 

“You let me know if you need anything at all, you hear?” Maggie asks as she moves to wrap me in a swift hug; I return the motion and nod, unable to resist smiling at her motherly demeanor as she takes a step away. She goes to check her own supply trucks then, leaving Jesus and I standing there – Carter hovers somewhere in the middle of the distance between Negan and I, his gaze flickering back and forth.

“So,” Jesus mulls. “What should I wear to the wedding? A trash bag, so I don’t upstage the bride?”

“And a trashcan on your head, for good measure. Your hair _is_ a bit too luxurious, after all,” I reply, and he laughs, one arm winding around my shoulders, the other lifting to ruffle my own hair, the motion making me splutter and duck out of his grasp.

“I’m glad,” he says after I’ve quieted, his pale eyes moving from person to person in the yard, “that we’ve all managed to find peace.”

I don’t know if we have, just yet. There are still so many factors to consider: Beta, somewhere unknown. Dwight, still skulking safely behind Alexandria’s gates. And countless other possibilities for enemies and struggles in the future, life difficult and uncertain. But it’s the closest we’ve ever come to normalcy, so I hum in agreement and nod my head.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last!
> 
> To everyone who has continued to leave reviews, comments, and little encouragements during my absence, thank you. All of you are so amazing, and it's because of you that I have the strength and desire to continue seeing this through until the end. I appreciate it more than I could ever explain.

_You touched my heart, you touched my soul._  
_You changed my life and all my goals._  
_And love is blind and that I knew when,_  
_My heart was blinded by you._  
_I've kissed your lips and held your hand._  
_Shared your dreams and shared your bed._  
_I know you well, I know your smell._  
_I've been addicted to you._

“I think,” I say, my voice level and mild, “that I’m going to throw up.”

From behind me, Kiyah snorts, and I don’t miss the way she rolls her eyes in the mirror before me. We’re standing in one of the vacant Alexandrian bedrooms, and in approximately ten minutes, I will stand in front of a beautifully decorated arbor and marry Negan. 

It seems surreal, that this day has finally come. There is no war, no threats, no worries. 

There are only communities that have come together to make this possible, a life of possibilities stretching before me, and the intense pounding of my own excited heart. 

“If you do, please make sure it’s not on the dress,” Kiyah replies, focused on twisting my hair into an elaborate braided masterpiece. “It’s too lovely.”

She’s right, of course. I can’t help but give myself another sweep in the mirror as she finishes with my hair. It’s a pale silver color, the bodice fitted with a low neckline that is flattering, the sleeves off-the-shoulder. The skirt is long and trailing, the entire thing shimmering like a thousand tiny stars, and the back is boldly bare. It is perhaps not what I would have picked _before_ , when circumstances were different – but it is perfect for the world as it is now. 

Kiyah pins one final strand into place and then steps back, her smile huge as I turn to face her. Her eyes are damp as she reaches to embrace me, and I feel my own threaten tears as I hug her fiercely in return. 

“Is this crazy?” I whisper. “Getting married during the apocalypse?”

“Does it make you happy?”

“Of course it does.”

“Then no. It’s not crazy at all.” She wipes her eyes when she pulls away, shooting me a mockingly venomous look. “Now stop it, before you make me ruin my makeup.”

The door opens then, and we both turn as Maggie pokes her head inside of the room, a gurgling Emil propped on one hip, a colorful bouquet of flowers in one hand. She gasps when she sees me, her smile rivaling Kiyah’s in size. “Oh, Mazia. You look so beautiful. Are you ready, or do you need a minute?”

Sucking in a deep breath, I step towards her, stooping to place a soft kiss on Emil’s forehead. When I straighten, I take the bouquet from her, holding it against my chest. “I’m ready.”

Still, it is difficult to make my legs move without the threat of them trembling as I let Maggie lead me from the room and down the hall, Kiyah carrying the train of my gown behind me. With each step, I feel as if my heart might riot and pound right out of my chest; the feeling only intensifies as we step from the house onto the porch.

The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon beyond the gates of Alexandria as Maggie leads me down the street and then off of the path, towards where I know the gardens reside. I am hidden from the guests and the arbor – and Negan, too – by one final house, though I can hear the hush of many voices, and it is here that I stop when Maggie gestures for me to. 

“Stay right here until the music starts,” she tells me, giving my arm one final squeeze before she disappears around the side of the house. Kiyah moves to stand beside me, her arm winding through mine; I’d asked her to walk me down the aisle, so to speak. 

There is a long moment where I feel as if I might stop breathing, and then the voices go silent as a soft, familiar tune begins to play from somewhere ahead, undoubtedly from a cassette player. My eyes must go as big as saucers, because I hear Kiyah quietly tell me, “Breathe”, and then we are moving, my feet seeming to take steps of their own accord. 

We round the corner of the house, and there in the beautiful gardens before me is a sight that robs my lungs of air. So many people from all of the communities, seated and turning towards me; I see Maggie and Jesus, Rick and Michonne, Daryl, Simon, James. There’s Ezekiel and Jed, Carl holding Judith, Enid with baby Hershel and Maggie seated beside her, Emil perched on her lap. And so many others.

So many faces, so many smiles, and yet there is one that I cannot tear my eyes from.

Beneath the arbor decorated with lilac flowers, standing before Father Gabriel (and Carter with a garland of flowers around his neck sitting near), is Negan. He looks unimaginably handsome in a tuxedo that fits him so perfectly that it’s unfair, his hair slicked back, hazel gaze flashing with emotion as he watches Kiyah lead me between the chairs towards him. For once, he is not the fearless leader of the Saviors. He is my Negan, father of our child, soon to be my husband. And my heart is practically singing its unchecked love when Kiyah releases me and moves to the side to allow me to stand across from Negan.

I hand my bouquet to Kiyah, and then Negan gently folds my hands into his. I do not miss how they tremble, just slightly, as my gaze lifts to hold his. I only manage to look away when Father Gabriel at last clears his throat, a smile on his face as he begins to speak, his voice carrying as the music goes silent.

“Today is a celebration. A celebration of love, of commitment, of friendship, of family, and of two people who are ready to embrace their new lives together. In a time like now, it is a great victory to find and maintain someone with whom you wish to spend the remainder of the life you have been given. Though we have lost much, we must also remember what is still to be gained. We must member that each second is precious, each moment never to be taken for granted.”

My gaze flits back to Negan as Father Gabriel continues, and the moment our eyes meet, we smile. There is something soft in his expression, all of his walls dropped – for _me_. Here he stands, giving me all of him. Every dark nook and cranny, every flaw, every bad moment. And likewise, every smile, every laugh, every positive memory that we will make together. 

We have endured so much together. From the moment our paths entwined, we set in action a series of events that have led to this very moment. Unbidden, tears spring to my eyes and threaten; he sees them, and if I’m not mistaken, his own hazel eyes seem to become a fraction damper. 

I know what this means to him. I know what he lost, when Lucille died and the world changed forever. I make a vow to myself then, silently, as I squeeze his hand. A vow to remain faithfully at his side, no matter what each day brings.

“No matter what challenges you may face,” Father Gabriel says, “you will not face them alone. You now face them together. And no matter how much you may succeed, you now also succeed together. Your love joins you both together – as one.” Here he pauses, and when I look to him, he is smiling, too. He allows a brief silence for us to reflect before shifting and continuing. 

“The rings that are now to be exchanged are symbols of unity, of completion, of a tangible reminder to yourselves and the world that you have recognized each other as soulmates.” And then, to my astonishment and glee, Father Gabriel knees to remove a tiny drawstring bag hung from Carter’s garland. I hadn’t even noticed it, before – but I know, without needing to ask, that it was Negan’s idea to have my faithful companion carry the rings. 

Father Gabriel straightens and hands one band to each of us – both silver and simple, matching. 

“Negan. Take Mazia’s ring, place it upon her finger, and repeat after me,” Father Gabriel instructs. My heart somersaults as Negan lifts my left hand within his own, and as he slides the delicate ring upon my finger, the words he repeats are dripping with meaning, dripping with love.

“I give you this ring as a reminder that I choose you,” he says, his voice husky and low, “and that I love you. Now and forever.”

In turn, I take his hand in my own trembling ones, and onto his finger I slide the similar band. My voice is as thick as his when it is my turn to say the same. 

“Do you, Negan, enter into this marriage with Mazia believing that the love you two share and your faith in each other will endure all things?" 

“I do,” Negan declares, and now he says it loudly, for all to hear. In his voice is a sincerity that robs my lungs of air.

“And do you, Mazia, enter into this marriage with Negan believing that the love you two share and your faith in each other will endure all things?”

I do not hesitate. “I do.”

“Mazia and Negan,” Gabriel says, and there is a note of finality in his voice. “You have expressed your love to one another through the commitment and promises you have just made. It is with these in mind that I pronounce you husband and wife. You are now joined in wedlock, and Negan, you may kiss the bride.”

His arms find my waist easily, drawing me closer as my head tips back. And when Negan kisses me, I forget about everyone and everything else. There is only us, the feeling of his lips against my own, the shaky exhale he gives as we yield to one another. We have kissed a thousand times before, but this…this is different. This is a promise, a vow, a beginning.

And when we break away, the cheering and clapping of those around us make me beam. So many people I never would have thought to consider friends. So many people I would have never known in a different life. Each of them now, encouraging us, witnessing our genesis together. 

\--- 

The ceremony was simple, much like the gathering afterwards is – but I would not have had it any other way.

As I sit at between Negan and Kiyah at one of the many long tables that have been brought together to form one in the gardens, I finally think that I know true bliss.

All around me are members of our own community and the others, laughing, jesting, sharing in the feast that each contributed to. There is faint music tinkling from the cassette player, and though the sun long ago set, the flickering light of candles that Maggie scrounged grants a pleasant, low light. 

Negan and I’s hands remain entwined the entire time, and my other arm cradles Emil, who is sleeping soundly and happily, much like Hershel is upon Maggie’s lap. Across from me sits Jesus, jesting and flirting with Jed; more than one our eyes meet, and his smile is always so kind, so genuine. 

For some time we are content to sit among the others, listening to the stories that are told, to Simon poking fun at everyone in the immediate vicinity, to Rick’s occasional laughter and Ezekiel’s warm voice. But eventually Negan stands and gently takes Emil from me, planting a kiss upon our son’s forehead before giving him to Kiyah, whom will return to the Sanctuary with him for the night.

As for us…I do not know where Negan plans to take me, though I have heckled him enough over the last few days for information. But he has stubbornly refused to tell me, insisting that I wait and see. And now, I feel his smoldering gaze upon me as I say goodbye to the others, thanking each of them with all of my heart, all of my soul. 

When at last I’ve finished, he leads me to the Jeep and helps me into the passenger seat before moving to drive. We are silent as we roll slowly through Alexandria’s gates, picking up speed along the quiet roads, our hands entwined upon the middle console. 

“This feels…” Negan begins after some time, and when I look to him, there is an expression on his features that is almost vulnerable. “Surreal. I can’t fucking believe it, doll. I mean, shit, if someone had told me a year ago that I’d have an _actual_ wedding like some fairy tale with all of the other communities, I might have laughed myself into the grave.”

I quirk a brow at him, my smile soft, lazy. “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his chuckle low as the vehicle slows. We can’t be terribly far from the Sanctuary, I estimate, but I am not familiar with the narrow dirt road that he guides the Jeep down, surrounded by trees on either side. I do not bother asking any questions, for I know that soon enough, I’ll figure out where he’s taking me. And when I finally see it, my eyes widen.

It’s a little cabin, small but cozy, with a soft layer of moss growing upon the roof and the surrounding trees. Something about it seems so secluded, so quiet, so _perfect_ , and I turn in my seat to face Negan, who is watching my expression with a grin.

“Negan. It’s amazing. How did you…?”

“Simon discovered it on a run a while back,” he tells me with a smug little wink that makes me laugh. “Had some men clean it up real nice. Figured it would work for our little honeymoon.”

He pauses to turn the car off before reaching for me, the feeling of his palm as it cradles my cheek making my eyes flit closed. When his lips find mine, the kiss is slow but promising, making me reluctant to break away when at last he withdraws to step from the Jeep. I watch him as he moves around the hood, pausing long enough to open my door before he’s reaching for me, lifting me effortlessly into his arms.

My own arms wind around his neck, my head finding his shoulder as he bounds to the porch. He does not tear his gaze from mine even as I reach to turn the door handle, pressing it open so that he can continue to hold me. 

And hold me he does as he carries me across the threshold, his lips finding mine again the moment that he does.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! For those of you reading back through this fic since photobucket changed their third party hosting policy, I apologize for the broken images. Luckily I saved all of them, and I’ll be slowly going back and re-uploading them :) There is no image for this chapter yet, but if you're interested in them, check back later this evening!
> 
> For those of you that have continued to leave comments and kudos, thank you so much. I’ve received such wonderful, sweet feedback, and I can’t even begin to explain how much it brightens my day to see them. I haven’t responded to most of them, but please know that I have read them, and appreciate them with all of my heart! 
> 
> This is a light chapter as I'm working on winding things down by chapter 50. Don't worry, there's still much to come in the next few!

_Oh,_  
_all that I know_  
_There's nothing here to run from_

It doesn’t take long for us to tumble into the big bed in the cabin.

As Negan steps back and kneels to begin stripping off his jacket, I press up onto my elbows and glance quickly around. The cabin is stuffy from misuse but not uncomfortable, with an open living room and kitchen that I can see from my place upon the mattress. The walls are a quaint hardwood, several shades lighter than the floors, and I can’t help but smile thinking of Negan ordering the Saviors to tidy up the place.

“You seem more interested in the place than me,” Negan quips, and my gaze snaps to him, hungrily drinking in the sight of his torso as he strips his shirt off, musing his hair. His hazel eyes meet mine and he grins, leaning down to press a kiss against my neck. I can’t quite stifle my giggle as his stubble tickles the sensitive skin there, and his laugh is low as he murmurs against my skin, “maybe I can do something to redirect your attention.”

I quirk a brow at him as he pulls away his hands snaking around behind my back, fingers deftly tugging at the zipper of my dress. “Oh, I don’t know. Are you sure you don’t just want to bask in the fabulous interior decorating?”

“Doll, if you’d prefer to play House Hunters over getting your world _rocked_ by your new husband, I might be a little wounded.”

Before I can reply, his lips find mine, and I melt against him as I arch my back to help him slide the gown from my body. I can’t even find the desire to care when he throws it in a crumpled heap on the floor, leaving me in only a lacy, matching set of underwear. Though we have been together time and time again, I still feel oddly self-conscious of the way my stomach is not quite fully flat after carrying Emil. One of my hand snakes between us to rest upon it, but Negan pries it away as he pulls back to stare into my eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, and before I can protest, he peppers a trail of kisses from my chest down to my stomach. “You’re stunning.”

The flames of desire surge higher within me hearing this, and I give a little sigh as he reaches to unclasp my bra, his hands immediately move to my breasts, my nipples stiffening beneath his calloused touch. And still he continues his path towards, kissing across my hips and then pausing just long enough to slide my underwear down my legs. I can’t help but gasp when his stubble brushes my thighs and his tongue finds the sensitive place at the apex, my hips trembling and bucking as he chuckles and reaches to still them. 

It doesn’t take long for me to unravel beneath him, but still he soldiers on until I come for him a second time, breathless and panting afterwards. And when he rises to his knees with a devilish glint in his eyes, reaching for his jeans, I know that we have a very long night ahead of us indeed. 

\--- 

Rays of sunlight filter in from between cracks in the curtains, falling across the thick duvet that Negan and I are curled beneath. 

I stretch and immediately wince at the soreness between my thighs; though Negan was gentle, it’s the first time since Emil’s birth that we’d dared to try.

Still, I can’t help the happy little grin that spreads across my face as I catch a glimpse of my rings, and when Negan wakes, he catches me admiring them. 

“You look as happy as a pig in shit,” he remarks in his gravelly voice, and I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. I _am_ happy, there is no denying it. But then he abruptly sobers, reaching to pull me into the warm embrace of his arms. “How are you, doll?”

“Sore. But it’s not terrible.”

He nods, seeming satisfied with this answer.

“How long do we have here?” I ask after a moment, my hand lifting to idly play with the hair of his chest. 

“Told Simon I’d be back tomorrow morning. We’ve got the whole day to ourselves. Anything in particular that you want to do?”

I think over it for a moment as I nuzzle my face into the crook of his shoulder, my finger moving now to trace the scar from the bullet he suffered fighting for Hilltop. “Mm…”

“Well, if you don’t have anything in mind…” he pulls back to aim a grin in my direction. “We could go swimming. There’s this little spring not far from the cabin; clear as shit, so no biters can pop out and nab us.”

It’s been so very long since I’ve been swimming; I can’t remember the last time. My face must light up at the prospect, because Negan grins and sits up, tugging me with him. “We don’t have anything to swim in.”

“Underwear will have to do then, won’t it, babe? We’ll keep weapons close on the shore just in case. It’s secluded and surrounded by trees; it would be hard not to hear any biters coming.”

I know Negan wouldn’t risk it if there was a possibility of harm befalling either of us, so I eagerly agree.

\---

An hour later, we’ve managed to tumble out of bed, dining on a breakfast of canned goods and crackers. My belly is full enough and I can’t help but hum as I follow him through the forest, down a little path that indeed leads to the spring, as promised. It’s surrounded by a rocky formation of stone on two sides, and the water is as clear as day, giving a breathtaking glimpse of rock far below. 

Negan stands watch as I shed my clothes and weapons until I’m left only in panties, and I can’t help but grin when he gives a soft whistle, hazel eyes dancing from my breasts to my hips. Before he can further comment, I dive into the cool water of the spring, my body giving a delighted shiver at how very good it feels against my skin. I sink down further and further until the breath in my lungs is depleted, and then I kick for the surface, emerging with a soft gasp. 

Negan is standing in only his boxers, his own clothes and weapons sat neatly beside me, watching me with raised brows.

“What’s wrong?” I goad, smoothing my wet hair away from my face. “Scared? It’s not cold.”

“Scared?” He repeats, and he laughs as he moves forward in one fluid motion, the splash from his impact raining down upon me. I giggle as he emerges, looking so very at-ease, a stark contrast to the fearless leader of the Saviors. 

There’s a devious glint in his eyes, and before I can react, he’s sending splash after splash towards me, making me splutter in indignation. It’s not long before I’m splashing him, too, but that leads to him swimming closer to dunk me under, and when I emerge again, he allows me to breathe for a moment before tugging me into his arms, his lips meeting mine.

We spend some time in the spring, undisturbed, alternating between kissing one another as we float in the clear water and meandering about. When the sun is high in the sky, I drag myself onto the bank and recline on one of the flat rocks to dry, letting the sun warm my skin. 

Negan comes to join me after a while, and I bask like a cat in both the warmth and his attention as we curled together, talking about anything and everything. When at last the sun retreats behind a bed of clouds, we rise and dress, strapping our weapons back on before heading towards the cabin.

My hair has just dried fully when we step inside, and once the door is shut, Negan lifts me into his arms, carrying me to the little loveseat situated in the living area. He sits with me on his lap, and I wind my arms around his neck with a soft exhale.

“I hope that one day Emil can grow up in a world where he’ll find true happiness,” I say softly, and Negan’s arms tighten around me, his head dipping until his cheek is against mine.

“He will,” he breathes. “We’ll make sure of it, Maz.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end now guys! :D It's so bittersweet but I'm definitely ready!

  
  
_This road is long_  
_But it's the one to take_  
_You gotta put in the work,_  
_It's time to make or break_

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed Negan and I’s honeymoon immensely, but when we at last returned to the Sanctuary and I had Emil in my arms again, I couldn’t contain my glee at the sight of our son.

He is chubby-cheeked and merry as I hold him now, three weeks after our return. I bounce him on my hip as I pace outside of the compound, feeling the eyes of the sentries on the gates as they flicker towards me. Though I am safely within the walls, I suspect that Negan has instructed them to keep an eye on his beloved wife and son, nonetheless. 

Carter is prowling just ahead of me, snapping his jaws noisily at the butterflies that come fluttering from the gardens. I watch him idly as I trail behind him, my mind wandering as I continue to coo at Emil. Negan is in one of his meetings with Simon and several of his other lieutenants, newly arrived from their compound, where they’d been for months during the war. Normally I might sit in on the meetings, where Negan has made it very clear that I’m always welcome, but today Emil has been fussy, and my own feet are restless. 

I continue with my slow pace for some time, until from atop one of the guard towers, a familiar voice calls, “Mazia!”

I pause and glance up, lifting the arm that isn’t holding Emil to shield my eyes with my hand, revealing the smiling face of Jed as he leans over one side. “Hey, you,” I call back, watching as he murmurs something to the younger boy atop the tower with him – likely a new patrol member in training. Jed disappears for a moment then, before eventually emerging at the base of the tower, jogging towards me. 

Emil grins at the sight of him – as he’s become fond of doing to anyone and everyone that comes his way. He’s a light-hearted child, unendingly curious and happy to be shown the slightest bit of attention. He makes a little babbling noise as Jed offers up his much larger hand for Emil to play with, and my son is all too happy to wrap his tiny hands around Jed’s fingers. 

“I have a question,” Jed begins, and something in his tone – along with the way he can’t quite meet my gaze – makes me frown.

“What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah! I mean, well…maybe,” he stumbles through his sentence and then pauses, sucking in a deep breath as he finally looks up at me. “This is all theoretical. And it’s probably just me overthinking. But I…I needed to talk to someone about it. Especially someone close to Negan.”

“Alright,” I say slowly, gesturing for him to follow as I pivot towards one of the wooden tables and benches near the garden. I sit on one side, Jed on the other, and settle Emil on my lap. He begins to grab little fistfuls of my hair, but his grip is too light to really hurt as I gaze at Jed. “Spill.”

“Well,” he says slowly, dragging the word out, looking distinctly more nervous than I’ve ever seen the usually-cocky man before. “I know I’ve never been terribly clear about my sexual orientation, so this may come as a surprise, but – “

“You have a thing for Jesus. I know.”

“What?” He splutters, folding his muscled arms over his chest, looking fairly disgruntled at the grin that spreads across my face. “But…how?”

“Jed, you haven’t exactly been conspicuous. Spending time with him whenever he’s near, flirting obnoxiously, and those _]looks_ you give each other – “

“Alright, alright! I get it. And I thought I was smooth.” He frowns then, and I can’t help my amused laughter that even manages to drag a grin from him. He wipes it away after a moment, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest and tips his head back to gaze at the sky, lifting his hand to run it through the thick beard that’s grown. “But the thing is, after you and Negan left for your honeymoon, I, ah, spent the night at Hilltop.” 

“And let me guess; you and Jesus spent the entire night chastely playing board games before retiring to your separate rooms?” I slap a hand over my chest, my mouth dropping open as I shoot him a scandalized look of mock-indignation. “ _Or_ you two didn’t go to separate rooms at all, and instead spent the night – “

“Mazia, please. Don’t say another word,” Jed groans, but from the way his cheeks have turned a faint shade of pink, I know I’m right. “The _point_ , if you would stop interrupting me, is that we talked for a while.” I raise my brows at the work ‘talked’, but say nothing. Still, Jed pauses and accuses, “Negan is rubbing off on you. Literally and figuratively.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly. But we talked, and we thought that maybe, in the future, if things keep going well…there might be the possibility of us living together.” He pretends not to see the massive grin now spreading across my features as he fidgets with the sleeves of his jacket. “But…I can’t see Jesus coming to live here. And I don’t know how Negan would react if I wanted to go to Hilltop. I mean, it’s unheard of.”

“It is,” I agree, and he deflates, until I lift a hand. “But things were very different before. We’ve never had peace with all of the communities like we do now. And it’s a peace I don’t think Negan is willing to break anymore, now that…”

I pause, glancing down at Emil, whose eyes are half-lidded as he begins to grow weary. Now that we have something to lose.

“Anyways, if you’d like, I can talk to Negan about it. But I think it would mean more if it were coming from you.”

Jed considers, and despite the way he still seems a bit uncomfortable with the idea, he nods. “You’re right. I’ll see if I can catch him, later on. I mean, it’s not happening crazy soon, you know? I just want to know the answer now, before things progress further, so no matter the outcome, Jesus and I can prepare for the future together.”

I sigh dramatically, shaking my head. “My baby is growing up.”

“Your baby?” He snorts, that arrogant demeanor returning in the blink of an eye. “Your _baby_ can still whoop you at hand-to-hand combat, any time.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. But give me a knife and your ass is grass, macho man.”

Jed crows at that, the sound attracting the glances of curious garden workers and Carter, who glances up from where he was sniffing about nearby. Jed’s grin is wide as he stands to return to his post, ruffling my hair annoyingly and winking at Emil as he moves past me. “We’ll see about that, short stuff. We’ll see.”

*** 

The fireplace crackles merrily, low flames licking at the logs that are settled within, the warmth and the smell that it permits making me feel more relaxed than I have in some time.

I sit curled on the couch under a heavy blanket, a mug of warm tea clutched in my palms, watching as Emil lays on his favorite blanket upon the rug near my feet, cooing and grabbing at the various stuffed toys that surround him. Carter sleeps nearby, his eyes occasionally creeping open to monitor Emil, before they briefly close again. He can’t yet support himself on his stomach, but I continuously nudge the toys back into his range when they roll too far away, watching as he smiles and reaches for them with tiny fists.

His smile is particularly adorable when the door opens and Negan steps in, and immediately I see the stress melt from his shoulders, his hazel eyes igniting as he hastily props Lucille against the wall, strips out of his jacket and boots, and then proceeds to huddle down on the blanket beside Emil, who looks absolutely delighted at the sight of his father.

“How’s my boy?” Negan asks as he lifts his son into his arms, and I smile as I sit my mug on the nearest table, throwing off the blanket to stand. I watch as Negan’s gaze flits up, taking in his maroon button-down that I wear, along with a pair of boxers that very nearly match, rolled up to fit. “My, my. I must say, I like you wearing my clothes all the time. Almost as much as I like you wearing nothing.”

“Hush,” I tell him with a little smile as I begin to gather up the stuffed animals – as well as various trains and cars that have been gifted to Emil, but that he’s too young to appreciate yet. “And he’s fine. He’s had a lively day. Ate well for all of his meals, got to go for a nice walk around the compound. Followed by a nap, and some play time.”

“Kid’s got it made,” Negan says proudly, cradling Emil against his chest. I watch for a moment before turning, arms full of toys as I make my way towards the little wooden basket that holds them. Already Emil is spoiled beyond reason, the basket overflowing, with more toys for later months in one of the closets. And the amount of _clothes_ he has…I’m beginning to suspect Negan tells the scouting groups to bring _everything_ baby-related back with them. 

“Spoiled rotten,” I agree fondly, and Negan laughs…but something about the sound draws my attention, and I frown as I straighten, turning to face him – though I don’t move from the basket. I remember his expression when he entered the room, and something about it makes my stomach tighten. “What is it?”

“Jed came and spoke to me,” Negan says, and for a moment I worry that my friend has gotten himself into deep, deep trouble. But I know Negan better than that, and there is no anger in his tone; he’s stalling, not wanting to tell me what’s really bothering him. “About Jesus. Living together in the future or some shit. I told him he can run off to Hilltop if he wants, doesn’t bother me. Long as Jesus doesn’t sniff after you anymore.”

“Jesus is gay,” I repeat for perhaps the thousandth time, and for a moment a genuine, devious smile reaches his lips; he knows, and just enjoys teasing me. But then it’s gone, and I sigh. “Negan. What’s going on?”

He turns to look at me at last, brows furrowed, his expression somewhere between enraged and grim. “The furthest outpost lead by Regina is reporting some strange movements. Biters moving too fast, shit like that.”

 _Beta._ I’d known, of course, that this peace could not last forever, not while Beta still prowled the earth. I purse my lips, hands going to rest on my hips as I stare into his eyes, seeing the mix of emotions there: fury, worry, fear. Fear not for himself, but for us, our child, and what we’ve built. I feel it mirrored within me, like some long-slumbering creature rearing its head.

“It’s hard for them to get a location on them. The men have tried, but if it’s the Whisperers, they’re being squirrely. Moving quick, leaving no sign, making no mistakes. But if it's Beta and those skin-walking fucks…we’ll find them, Maz. And escape won’t be an option for any of them this time.”

No, for this time, we have the full might of the communities willing to band together, each of them with something to protect. Alexandria, with stubborn, resilient Rick leading, determined to spend each breath surviving, creating a better world. The Kingdom, Ezekiel’s smiling face coming to mind, already having lost so much but never letting it dampen his spirits as he leads his people higher, always higher. The Hilltop, with Maggie having overcome sorrow again and again to rule fairly, justly, with friends and her young son at her side. 

And the Sanctuary, having changed so much during the last few month but still strong, the Saviors rising again and again, adapting. 

Negan, with his arms wrapped so securely around that little baby, his hazel eyes blazing as he looks up at me, a silent promise in his gaze. 

And so I go to him, kneeling on the rug beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. 

I, who have risked it all for him and my loved ones time and time again. I, who have stood by him in the brightest moments, the darkest shadows, never giving up. I, who have endured more than I thought I could not only for him – but for my son, my sister, my friends, the Saviors. 

His wife, his queen. He, my husband, my king. And in his arms, our future, our world, now dozing so peacefully.

So I smile, and I nod. 

“We’ll settle this, as we always have. Together.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd another chapter after my long break! :D So good to be back!

_Crash, crash, burn_  
_Let it all burn,_  
_This hurricane's_  
_Chasing us all underground_

The morning is warm, summer descending upon us, and the Sanctuary is unusually quiet.

There’s a faint breeze that lifts and stirs my hair as I move through the grass beyond the gardens, a silent Emil on my hip. It doesn’t take long for me to find what I’m looking for, and when I do, I carefully kneel in the trimmed grass, the surrounding area meticulously maintained by someone with love and care in their heart. 

There’s no sign of a disturbance in the earth now, but a smooth stone marks the spot, letters carved into it. I smile at the sight, reaching up with one hand to brush away specks of dirt as I settle Emil on my lap with the other. 

I’m silent for a while, thinking, gathering my words. But when I begin to speak, they come so naturally that I might as well have not bothered at all. 

“Hi, Caden.”

Emil glances up at me then, wide eyes searching my face curiously as I continue speaking. 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t visited before now. I know it makes me seem like an awful friend. I could say that it was because of all the drama with the communities lately, but I don’t think that’s true. I think that it’s just...whenever I’ve lost a friend in the past, or family, there was no grave to visit. I wasn’t sure how this would make me feel. I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you. I think about you every single day.”

Emil coos quietly then, and I glance to him before looking back to the grave. 

“This is my son, Emil. He’s almost three months old now. It’s crazy how time flies.”

I falter there, feeling tears sting; no matter how long it’s been, the wound feels fresh again in that moment. “It seems so stupid now, because we’re at peace with the other communities, and it was so pointless for you to have died fighting them. But I know thinking like that won’t get me anywhere.

“We’re about to go to battle again. One last time, I hope. I know it’s not smart to think we won’t encounter more hostile groups in the future, but...I guess that’s the optimistic side of me talking. I’m going to have to leave Emil at the Kingdom, for safety - with Maggie’s son and Rick’s daughter, too. It’s the only community this group hasn’t attacked yet; I don’t think they know where it is. It’s funny; there’s not even a guarantee this is the same group. But from the description of them, and this feeling I have in my bones...that sounds strange. It’s like I just know.”

At last I stop blabbering and simply bow my head, brushing my fingers gently across the carved letters of his name. “I wish you were still here,” I whisper, the sound ragged, like some wounded animal. I knew this would happen, if I visited his grave - but I owe it to him. So many times in the past I’d tried, only to shy away at the last second. No more. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. What you meant to me. And I promise I’ll visit more, if I come back from this.”

I rise then, cradling Emil close, and with one last look at the grave, I turn and begin to pick my way back towards the main door of the Sanctuary. 

Negan is waiting for me there when I arrive, leaning against the wall, his gray T-shirt clinging to his figure as his eyes sweep across me. He knows where I’ve been, I can see it in his eyes, and he holds out an arm in invitation as I approach. I smile gratefully and step into his embrace for a moment, letting him rub little soothing circles on my back. 

“I’m sorry to bring this up now, doll,” says Negan, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “But Gavin’s outpost has eyes on that group. Pretty damn sure it’s the Whisperers. 

I frown but press closer, my head against his chest. “What’s the next step?”

“Simon warned the other communities. They’re readying themselves now...to leave in the morning.”

Before I can stop myself, the words slip from my mouth. “I’m going.”

“Mazia - “

“No. I’m going. I’m seeing this through.”

“Maz...” he trails off, glancing towards Emil, who is cradled between us. “If it comes down to it, someone has to fucking live. Someone has to raise our son.” 

“Maggie is staying at the Kingdom with Emil and the other children. If worse comes to worse, she can - “

“ _No._ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” I say just as vehemently, despite the low tone of my voice not to disturb Emil. “Listen to me, Negan. We’re supposed to be making a better world for our son. That’s something I have to contribute to, something I have to do – for myself, and for Emil. I didn’t have that choice when the Whisperers invaded the Sanctuary and I had to cower behind a couch with Maggie. I didn’t have that choice when I was locked in the infirmary, sick with terror and in labor while you, Simon, and everyone else I loved fought for our future. But I do now. I want to fight. I will fight – with you.”

Unbidden, tears well in my eyes, stinging as I stare up at Negan. He pauses, and whatever he sees in my expression seems to convince him more than my words ever could. Resigned, he wraps his arms around me more tightly, Emil between us as Negan bows his head to rest his chin atop my skull. When he exhales, his breath stirs the loose strands of my hair. “Alright, doll. Alright.”

-

The night that follows isn’t the first that we spend wrapped in each other’s arms, embracing fiercely as if it might be the last. 

It reminds me, inevitably, of the time we’d spent together at the compound before the battle at Alexandria. We’d expected death, then. We’d prepared for it. But instead, we’d survived – and created life, as well. That had been the night Emil was conceived. Everything had changed, after that.

And now, it might all change again. The thought makes me shiver, and Negan, half-asleep, stirs to pull the blankets up over our naked bodies. I nuzzle my head against his chest, trying to quiet my racing thoughts. 

“Maz?” Negan’s voice is raspy, soft, and my eyes flit closed at the sound of it. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” I admit, my voice a whisper in the night, both to avoid waking Carter and Emil in the next room, and because I feel strangely as if speaking too loudly will only make my fear more obvious. “I’m afraid that this’ll be the last time you hold me. The last time I feel your skin against mine.”

I expect some lewd remark, but it doesn’t come. Silence settles around us, broken only by his sigh when he pulls me closer against him, his muscled arms wrapping firmly around me. I lift a hand to his shoulder, one finger tracing the scar there from his encounter with Beta’s bowie months prior. 

“I’m terrified of the same fucking thing,” he admits finally, and I can hear his heartbeat picking up speed beneath my head, pounding against his chest. “I haven’t had nearly enough time with you, my fine ass wife, or with my adorable son. Shit, I don’t think there’s enough time in the world to ever be enough. But no matter what happens, Mazia, you need to know that I…love you.”

He’s said it a million times before, but he still stumbles over it. I don’t take it personally – I understand. For people such as ourselves who have lost so much in this fucked up world, admitting love is like admitting weakness, opening yourself up and baring your soul to someone, giving them the opportunity to shred you if they leave – whether intentionally, or through death. 

I sit up, the blankets falling from around my shoulders, and though I can’t see terribly clearly in the dark, I feel Negan’s eyes on me as I straddle him, my legs on either side of his hips. I feel him stir beneath me, his hardness pressing against the apex of my thighs, uninhibited by our coupling only shortly before. 

“I love you,” I tell him, rubbing myself against him, making him groan softly. We’d made love earlier that night in every sense of the word – slow thrusts, clasped hands, quiet murmurs of affection. But as I lift and then lower myself on his length now, I feel a fierceness rise within me, a primal desire to show him with body and soul just how determined I am to return to him.

He must feel it, too. His broad hands grasp my hips harshly, and he snaps up into my wetness abruptly, the movement making my head fall back, a whispered moan spilling from my lips. But I still him with a hand to his chest, and he laughs, the deep, grating chuckle making me shiver atop him.

“You want control now, baby girl?” He asks me, and it’s damn near impossible to hide the way goosebumps rise on my arms at that, or the way my hips give a little circular rotation as if of their own accord. I hum in response, and he stills. “Show me how much.” 

So I do.

My movements start out slow, torturous for the both of us, rising and falling again and again, biting my lip to silence my little noises as he fills me each time I sink down. But it doesn’t take long for my pace to increase, thighs clenching as I brace myself against him by placing my hands on his broad chest, using that as leverage to drive my motions. 

I lean down towards him then, my mouth colliding with his, our lips moving together as I continue to grind and swivel my hips atop his, spine arching when one of his hands travels up my back. His lips muffle my moans as my pace increases, my hands moving to either side of his face to grasp the sheets roughly. It’s not the first time we’ve been so spirited with one another, but it very well might be the last, and it adds a heightened sense of urgency.

His hands move from my spine to my hips again, and he begins to pull my hips against his; it’s not long until he’s thrusting up against me as well, and this time, I don’t complain. Our pace is brutal, and though I know I should worry about being sore for the upcoming fight, I don’t. I only continue to gasp and moan softly against his lips as our bodies meet again and again, my wetness coating him, my need for him growing by the second. And though we’ve coupled already tonight, I can feel him shuddering and shivering beneath me, his body seemingly as enamored by the act as my own.

I can feel the pressure building between my thighs as he bucks up against my sweet spot, my fingers entwined so hard with the sheets that it aches. And when I come unraveled for him, I have to lower my head to the crook of his neck and bite down on the skin there to muffle my cries, which only sends him into his own release, his groans stifled through his gritted teeth.

I don’t immediately slide off of him. Instead, I stay atop him, breathing heavily, my face nuzzled against him as one of his hands plays with the long strands of my hair. But I know that we both need rest, so I finally roll onto my side, letting him pull my curled frame against his own.

I don’t remember when I drift off; I remember only dreams of my husband and my son.


End file.
